Sewn together to be torn apart,
bitten, beaten, ripped to pieces.
Put back together with used parts,
over time her quality decreases.
Drifting like petals in the gentle breeze,
the Doll goes where the wind blows.
She knows hell would have to freeze
in order to get a brand new set of clothes.
A ribbon wrapped to cover a tortured head,
wooden buttons and her bow colored red.
Notes of a blonde dolls life.
— The End —