once you come to that certain hault
in the center of the concrete slabs that support your broken heels and blistered toes
and stare up through the dome of the snowglobe
as tiny droplets of icy water sprinkle on your perfect face
you remember what it's like:
the land of tears and shivering
bleeding mascera and cracked painted nails.
fall on your back and lie in the stream
that will send a chill across your face.

paper dolls pull eachother
as the scissors attempt to sieze the fun.
marry-go-rounds and the sea-saw times
have already forgotten about those days.

when the softest whisper can trigger the upmost rage
and the intentions are never "just a thought"
releasing all the true potential
realiasing that youre truely alone

So now youre laying on your back
in this wet, black stream
you can feel JUST what it's like:
in the land of tears and shivering
staining mascera and water beading on painted nails
you created this icy stream
that will keep the chill within your face

paper dolls no longer pull eachother
the scissors have ducked their last goose
the marry-go-rounds and sea-saws have rusted
they've forgotten about those days

your perfect smile shows no justice
for the dammage that you've done
the dome of this snowglobe is cracking,
falling down around your blistered toes.