Mother told me to always be polite

and taught me that people are not playthings

Didn't you mother do the same?

Because I feel like your doll sometimes

A stitched rag you can twist and turn

into something that you can love

Why can't you love me for what I am?

My eyes may be buttons

but they're my eyes just the same

and I see everything you do to me

My heart may be stuffing

and sometimes it may seem useless

but when you tear it out

and throw it to the wind

it has the same effect

Is it too much to ask to be cared for?

Is it too much to ask to be loved?