Like four paper-dolls all heavy with sleep,
they hold you like a baby, your body so weak.
They lay you on a white bed, almost dead at nineteen,
like four paper dolls all heavy
with sleep.
And with your blonde hair all over my dress,
your heart had
stopped beating, your head on my chest,
and I told you for the last time that I loved you
best.
And with your blonde hair all over my dress.
