She's got broken things, Where her heart should be, Shattered glass from old, Milk bottles and shiny, Fragments of CDs she, Made for the love of her life. The central ***** was beat, To a ****** pulp, And her bones are now, Made of glass, So fragile one step might just, CRACK. But she seems to, Keep on going, Even though the going is quite, Tough. Even with bones of ice and, No heart, She hasn't had enough.