Doll Parts Hole 

I am doll eyes, doll mouth, doll legs
I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait
Yeah, they really want you
They really want you, they really do
Yeah, they really want you
They really want you, and I do too

I want to be the girl with the most cake
I love him so much it just turns to hate
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache

And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache

I am doll parts, bad skin, doll heart
It stands for knife
For the rest of my life
Yeah, they really want you
They really want you, they really do
Yeah, they really want you
They really want you, but I do too

I want to be the girl with the most cake
He only loves those things
Because he loves to see them break
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache

And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache
And someday, you will ache like I ache

Someday, you will ache like I ache

Fuente: LyricFind

Compositores: Courtney M Love

The Applicant

BY SYLVIA PLATH

First, are you our sort of a person?

Do you wear

A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,

A brace or a hook,

Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then

How can we give you a thing?

Stop crying.

Open your hand.

Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing

To bring teacups and roll away headaches

And do whatever you tell it.

Will you marry it?

It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end

And dissolve of sorrow.

We make new stock from the salt.

I notice you are stark naked.

How about this suit——

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.

Will you marry it?

It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof

Against fire and bombs through the roof.

Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.

I have the ticket for that.

Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.

Well, what do you think of that?

Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,

In fifty, gold.

A living doll, everywhere you look.

It can sew, it can cook,

It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.

You have a hole, it's a poultice.

You have an eye, it's an image.

My boy, it's your last resort.

Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Sylvia Plath, "The Applicant" from The Collected Poems. Copyright © 2008 by Sylvia Plath.  Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.Source: The Collected Poems (Faber and Faber, 1989)