A Doll's House / Pavlovia

Heart torn open with a flick of your tongue.

Young's smoked out voice against the setting sun.

Pulling the strings one by one, 'till we're back to a ball of yarn.

Packing dry sand to fit a mold.

The bucket's deep but it won't hold the liquids in.

It's in my head, it seeps and drips on to the bed.

All the hope and feeble gestures made to hold a place in the old domain.

A doll's house you've made with me at the heart, but I was just a bit part.

It's crumbling, the walls caving in.

Deep down the footings are thin.

Your treachery of words has taken the reins and torn up all that here remains.