At dawn I found a hollow girl,
fair, with metal in her veins.
She spoke of narrow hallways,
with dew upon the doors.
She warned of fading quickly,
        her soul poured upon the floor.

She tugged and knotted at her hair,
as she spoke of horrorful woes.
She huffed, and sighed; it wasn't fair.
Then she felt cold water on her toes.

The shocking sting stunned her at first,
yet the needles slowly rised.
She hoped it wouldn't be the worst,
but still the needles rised.

They figured they couldn't mend her,
leave her broken on the floor.
There was nothing they could do
before she'd pass through that door.

"What else?" they'd ask the actors,
"What speech could we write next?"
They'd give her a special one
and for this she'll be blessed.

As they molded plaster
and preened her oh so nice.
They painted her a smile,
and emerged her into ice.