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Ana Podarevska


I'm a miserably predictable
Broken, sticked-up doll.
My dress is torn, my hair matted
And one arm dangles at my side.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
I used to be pretty, you know
Before I got so old, before I became disposable.
They used to look at me and smile
I was theirs for a while.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
Too old for the job,
No one pays to keep a rag.
I'm a doll, a broken doll,
Wishing I didn't fall.

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