She was a poor girl from the city.
She'd had a hard and lonely childhood,
And she was the girl that said,
"Please take me to your bed."
Innocently, just like a child would.
"Well, now," thought he, she's just the fast type."
He didn't care how much she loved him.
So he took her to his bed,
And, just as poor girls dread,
That was the last that she saw of him.
She waited for his call.
Her fear grew worse; he didn't call.
And then one day he took a wife.
On that same day she took her life.
The minister came and prayed above her.
She was dressed in a gown of pure, white satin.
They put her into her bed.
Put a stone at her head that read,
Our daughter is gone, but not forgotten.
Forgotten.