She looked at me like a blank wall;
She was like clay in my hands.
I tried to shape her into something
I would care to put on the fireplace.
She didn't refuse me or my affection,
She was just their, for me, I guess.

That morning I finished her. She was done.
I tossed her in to the oven and went away from her.  

Then I want to get her, my love, my puppet.  
She was mine, but she was all burned up,
Black and Browne and not how I wanted her.
But she just smiled at me, my doll, my blank wall.
She smiled even when I smashed her to pieces and throw her
into the fire.