A rag doll walks along the street
People watch her unsteady gait
It's hard to say how she feels
It's really hard to say
They think she never had a heart
Just a ball of cotton instead
Who cares if the doll is real
Who cares if she can hardly stand
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
There's nothing sacred
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
If you're not sorry, just fake it
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
And look into [C7]her eyes
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
Could you [A7call [Em]her unwise?
Could you [A7call [Em]her unwise?
As she sits on [C7]the windowsill
Nothing changes inside her mind
But who can tell it for [Dm7]ɾeal?
Maybe [Am]she can see behind
She's so tiny and [Bm]tied up in lace
No one can see through her smile
Drawn in scarlet pencil on [C7]her face
And in the pile...
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
There's nothing sacred
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
If you're not sorry, just fake it
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
And look into [C7]her eyes
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
She never lived but she dies
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
There's nothing sacred
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
If you're not sorry, just fake it
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
And look into [C7]her eyes
In the pile of tɾash
You can find her flesh
Could you [A7call [Em]her unwise?
She never lived but she dies
She never lived but she dies