There's a glassy tint in those eyes of her,
And dried glue in her perfect hair.
You can kiss her for an hour, two and more,
She's so beautiful and pale and mort.

You don't need real girls,
They are drunk and just want pearls.
The perfect doll on the other hand,
She won't object - you see, she's dead.

And the doll would be faithful and true,
And the doll would be the perfect wife for you.
She doesn't care for rain and snow,
She'll get into bed and smile for the show.

Maybe her lips seem so pale,
But she's as pure as a nightingale.
Maybe she is empty inside,
But she has no lice and parasites.

And the doll would be faithful and true,
And the doll would be the perfect wife for you.
She doesn't care for rain and snow,
She'll get into bed and smile for the show.

The dress and socks are torn and old,
And one of her hands is broken to the bolt.
Buy her an new dress and a pair of socks,
And glue for the hand, broken to the bolt.

And the doll would be faithful and true,
The sick doll would be the perfect wife for you.
She doesn't care for rain and snow,
She'll get into bed and smile for the show.