There is a hole where the doll Was cut out from the paper. Torn and ragged, Her empty shape betrays her There's a hole in her soul Her heart is wounded and scarred Invisible She's a work of living dark art. She has her secrets She rides shotgun on the wind "Freedom!" she cries Balancing goodness and sin. She's out of the picture She dances on that fine line Sticky tape and brown paper Hold together her body and mind. Where has she gone, That old paper doll? You can dress her in rags You can adorn her in gold She is folded and crumpled Her colors are faded And when you hunt for her You find she's evaded! There is a hole in the paper Where the doll once was drawn You can try and match her up to it But she is gone with the dawn.