The doll that looked like you

She wanted more courage, more armor, more faith to survive.
And she didn't want any normal available boys.
It would be so cruel to bury belief that's alive,
And she made the doll looked like you, it was one of her toys.
She cut out your figure from simple accessible rag
And filled it with cotton wool, so it was easy to beat.
"You will be without eyes, without words, you'll have no tag.
And I am your fairy, you must fall in love with me, sweet".

She had so much madness inside, so much anguish and grief,
That all was as big as her power to break you one day.
She could cut the devil in small parts and fry them like beef.
But she had no courage, no armor, just phrases to say.
She called her doll to the hall, then she sat down on her throne.
Her words turned to claws, and her ugly fears started to swell.
And doll's tears flew down to the rag soul without any groan,
The worm-eaten bog hissed with pain and was black like the Hell.

She wanted more courage, more armor, more faith to survive,
More pleasures, more make-up, more platitude not to be miffed.
But did you forget the way you cut her out of her life,
And gave her the mascot of failure, the memory gift?
You played with her long. And her faith was completely expired.
Her mirages cut up all her fears as if that was the end.
And she wasn't made of rags. She's made of glass, and she's tired.
And what are you made of? Do tell us your mistery, friend.

Кукла похожая на тебя

А ей не хватало ни смелости, ни брони.
Она не хотела обычных земных ребят,
Но заживо веру решила не хоронить
И сделала куклу, похожую на тебя.
Из тряпки доступной скроила твой силуэт.
Наполнила ватой, чтоб было не больно бить.
"Ты будешь без глазок, без матов, без сигарет.
А я твоя фея, изволь меня полюбить".

Ах, сколько в ней было безумия и тоски,
И столько же сил, чтоб однажды тебя сломать.
Она бы и чёрта разделала на куски,
Но не было смелости. Только слова, слова.
Звала свою куклу, присаживалась на трон.
Слова-живодёры свою исполняли роль.
И куклины слёзы стекали ручьём в нутро,
Где чёрным червивым болотом шипела боль.

А ей не хватало ни смелости, ни брони.
Ни радостей жизни, ни пошлости, ни румян.
А ты и забыл, как однажды её "скроил",
Подав ярлычок неудачи как талисман.
Ты с нею играл, пока вера не истекла,
Пока не изрезали фобию миражи.
Она не из тряпок сделана. Из стекла.
А ты из какой материи, расскажи.