Sugar

She likes to wear a new skin each and every day

She says she's better off that way

She hangs the old ones on a rail beside the bed

And drags the creases out with lead

She always keeps up with the date, but not the times

She lives on perlemoens and limes

She wears a crown of thorn clamped tightly to her head

And sells insurance to the dead

She flies around the place until her wings just ache

But only gives what she can take