Bloody ballerina, scrubbing at the stains that won't fade,
Tattered silk
You lack my sympathy, you've got no empathy,
I'd rather die
All that's pretty is this hole in your face,
Nothing sweeter
No longer your perfect playthings,
we're shattering we're breaking,
Seeing now
I'll sing you a monster's lullaby, I wanna tear you
Light a match, but the cold never stops hurting, She'll
Sisters joined at the hipThroats choking on a kissLegs splayed-
Sally's made of paper and string, She's a perfect, patchwork
When you cry it makes a sound Like knives on
Dolly going out in her Sunday Best, Bow in her
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