Naught will avail this Time worn tune,
Sung by a doll who asks a boon.
Sung by a doll who asks a boon.
Who danced to the pull of strings so weary,
As if ever so very merry.
As if ever so very merry.
Strings that were strung, by choice of course.
Taken with the vise of loneliness and remorse.
Taken with the vise of loneliness and remorse.
In a world colored by fear, and in each hand,
Carried dreams once vivid, now but dust and sand.
Carried dreams once vivid, now but dust and sand.
Pitiful, perhaps, but what's it to you?
For it is thanks to you, that all this is due!
For it is thanks to you, that all this is due!
"Not I!", they may proclaim, aye, so very true.
And the doll nods along, so filled with rue.
And the doll nods along, so filled with rue.
For they are but a doll to dance and sing.
It is never another's fault, so blind they enjoy being!
It is never another's fault, so blind they enjoy being!
And so the doll turned heaven ward,
And over the stars, she said, her last word.
And over the stars, she said, her last word.
Goodbye, dear friends who never were,
And a love that was callous, never soft for her.
And a love that was callous, never soft for her.
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