My gorgeous master was creating me with his love

My gorgeous master was creating me with his love
He called me by word and the word was alive
He carved a good heart for me and it started a beat
I worried if that sound would someday disturb me

My gorgeous master loved me more than anyone else
Even more than his beautiful red-haired lass
He sewed for me silk dresses, like if I were Real
And made me a blackberry pie every friday for meal

But then one day, one windless day of the winter's end
The doorbell rang and echoed deep inside my head
An enchanting stranger came into home out of the blue
'My gorgeous master, tell me who is she? Who?'

He looked at her like if she was exhaling the magic light
Like if she was the sun in the dead of a polar night
He turned pale, maybe felt sick.... so then, like a child
She smiled at him with a warm, guileless smile

If I were a girl... You know, if I were quite Real girl
I would have felt a painful void swallow me whole
She and me were like twins: face, hands, dress with frill
But she was not seeming... she was perfectly Real

If I were a girl... It would have burned me down to ashes
Melting snow was beading on the fringe of her lashes
I tightened my lips with the question I couldn't endure
'When you were creating me, did you dream about her?'
_________

ночь, Deacon и фейская пыль