I always hated that cold, dead doll,
The one with the straight-through stare,
The one who sat aloft and watched,
The one who couldn't care.
She knows every sharp-edged secret,
Locked inside her porcelain mind,
Are visions of a blood stained knife,
And a girl with tears that blind.
She's the only one who knows what happens,
Inside that dismal room,
Though light, the atmosphere is tainted,
It feels darker than a tomb.
The doll was the only one that witnessed,
All the flowing of the crimson pain,
She could not close her fixed eyes,
Could not block out the girl's disdain.
I always hated that cold, dead doll,
The one with the straight-through stare,
The one who sat and watched,
The one who couldn't care.
