And the bodies piled up.
In a corner of her doll house, they laid.
She'd sip tea from her tiny cup.
And with their greenish flesh, always played.
She couldn't play dress-up all day.
Her little house swarmed with flies, like a hive.
When her fascination finally melted away,
She liked to pretend they were still alive.
It made sense to have a deceased friend.
Her parents always seemed to give her theirs.
This way, the friendship could never end.
Even though they'd forever sit near her dolly's and teddy-bears.
Something about her dead friends sitting there
Reminded her of her china dolls.
Same cold touch, same blank stare,
Same feeling of hearing them call.
Too many corpses to greet.
Too many corpses to play house with.
Today had been a rather good treat.
She had invited five guests to her party, and all attended but the fifth.
The fifth was somewhere in the house, but she didn't know where.
She invited her, but didn’t want her to come.
She hadn't seen her, nor the mouse or bear.
And thought something odd had been done.
The fifth was a girl who looked like her very much.
She didn't know how that could be.
When she touched her, it was a mirror that she would touch,
and she wouldn't realize what was there to see.
They told her they'd come back and let her out.
Told her They loved her and They'd set her free.
But They never came back, and not once did she shout out.
And now she sits here with us, pouring ice-cold tea.
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