This girl; she's like a puppet
Being tossed about on strings
When she's told to speak
She says only pleasant things
A fine red line curved
In permanent red paint
And her manner
Is ever so quaint
Circlet of blonde yarn for hair
Bright green marbles for eyes
But look into this puppet's soul
And see nothing but lies
This puppet want to vanish
She cries herself to sleep
And when she's all alone
All she does is weep
She wants the world to see
See through her falling tears
That she's a girl and not a puppet
Before she disappears
