There they are with their porcelain faces
Beauty, perfection, pretending to be
Full lips and big eyes, no insecurity
So much better they are, than me


They sit on their little plastic chairs
And wear beautiful, gossamer gowns
Hollow heads and empty brains
And nothing, by them, will be found


With their hourglass curves and their
Sweetly betraying, innocent voices
They are forever the lovely ones
Nature frees them from making choices


And on their plastic table, in front of them
Is a shiny, bright silver platter
Because they're entitled, it's handed to them
And all else ceases to matter


And society encourages them
Set their faces on glossed over pages
And I tear myself up, meek as a mouse


I guess we're all subject to the doll house