The doll.
The doll is still, the doll is inanimate.
The doll is quiet, the doll is delicate.
She never knows who will come along,
And if they’re right, or if they’re wrong.
She does not know how life goes by,
But we all smile on her still, still eyes.
The girl.
The girl is kind, the girl is sweet.
The girl is happy to those she meets.
She dances around, she likes to play.
She gleefully smiles on the passing day.
But, what will happen?
What will happen when her time runs out?
When her little voice can no longer shout?
When society stifles her delighted laugh,
And turns her into its little craft?
A carbon copy,
No longer happy,
A passer-by,
A waste of time,
A grain of sand,
A height to fall,
Until she is just like a doll…
The doll is still, the doll is inanimate.
The doll is quiet, the doll is delicate.
She never knows who will come along,
And if she’s right, or if she’s wrong.
She does not know how life goes by,
Yet we all still smile on her still, still eyes.