Back when she was a girl 
there was a plan to see her through her life: 
get married, settled down, 
and have some kids and be a good housewife; 
but she would go to bed at night 
with day-glo stars and fairy lights 
stuck on the ceiling of her room 
as she dreamt of another life.

Now it's too late to go back home, 
it's saccharine and silicone, 
for a broken Barbie doll. 
Sleeping pills and alcohol, 
and nights she'd rather not recall, 
for a broken Barbie doll.

And though the hands that played with her 
were cold she let them drag her down, 
and as her cardboard world begins to fall, 
she's lying on the ground.

 [bad word] 

Her mother writes her every week, 
she says she's worried for health. 
Her dad says she's finding her feet,
 but now she's lying on the shelf. 
Like faulty goods that are returned, 
her pretty fingers are all burnt.