You started but some fanatical idea.

Inside this skull of mine.

An ideal companion, that might serve me well.

She would be glad wait on me hand in foot,

And stay within these border lines.

Pity I never factored in free will.

With these hands I made you.

My own two hands.

Flesh of fabric, and many stitches.

Polished eyes and blood red hair.

Inside you, stuffed with autumn leaves.

Packed in by thread and the rags you wear.

I taught you everything I could afford to.

Things that would not make you wonder.

And the tales, of which I told you…

Things of the outside world,

To make you shudder.

I spoke of dangers, not to be messed with

By some foolish girl.

But alas, despite my bitter efforts.

Curiosity poisons her anyhow.

And him, that wretched captivator,

Manages to charm her with his light.

My only hope of holding on to her,

Is to keep her here,

And hope she does not catch his eye.

Bitter fool, wretched wench.

To trick me so that she may see these places,

And to think, so much time,

Wasted in preventing this!

That witch! Foul betrayer!

Her eyes alight with dreams of him,

So much that she would think

to abandon her creator!

Here I am, hands wasted on nothing.

Just to watch her desiring for him.

I could wish her bitter, that he never see her…

But I am a fool to hope for this…

She will have him, sooner or later…

He will see her for what she is…

She's my mistake,

A failure for what task I made her…

It's clear to me now…

She was made for him.