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Hung by the hand, tears in it's eyes, was the little rag doll with the pin-pricked eyes.
I know a girl,
A small little girl,
Who made everyone happy,
Except her mother and father.
Her mother would beat her,
Until she was black and blue.
Her father, well, let's just say,
He treated her so much worse.
Her father would rape her,
Violate her young soul,
And he threatened her afterwards,
To take away her doll.
Her doll was the only thing,
That gave this girl some joy.
This doll, the little rag doll,
Was more than just a toy.
One afternoon, after her beating,
The girl could take it no more,
she'd had enough, was done for good,
And did the only thing she knew she could.
She grabbed a belt, her father's belt,
And under the doorknob she stood,
She was hung from the doorknob,
Tears pricking her little eyes.
In her hand, the hanging hand,
Was the one thing the girl loved the most,
Hung by the hand, tears in it's eyes,
Was the little rag doll with the pin-pricked eyes.