Broken Dollies

These ghost dolls haunt to slaughter, 
When they cut, they bleed water,
Its the blood that stains their eyes,
Its the blood that tear our cries,
Slitting hearts without a reason,
Bones are heavy soaked with treason,
They turn faces black and grey,
These are the games the dollies play,
When they pray, when they kneel,
It's an empty hurt they feel,
A little dolly's broken seams,
Have tiptoed into your bad dreams,
Curls and make-up pour her face,
A ribbon hung from tiny waist,
Her pale skin shone in night,
Her crimson lips drawn too tight,
Pins and ropes had scared her varnish,
Her broken sole been left a tarnish,
She steps towards armed with knife,
Goes to a lunge and takes her own life.