I see mannequins,

They walk in different stages

Mocking cultures,

without reading the pages

Tarnished flowers,

lay still on the grandeur

As withered as they may be,

They bleed with no danger.

I can rub my hand on these tears,

And call them diamond cherries

If I wipe them,

They smear with fear

Then I'll ask:

"Where did my buttons go?"

Sowed on plains that string this earth,

The wind doesn't walk anymore

Growing grains of pain through every second,

Till my tree is full of rice and butter

But until then

Until this time

The dolls will follow the master,

Day by day

String by string