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Born a mechanism within a corrupt machine,

A whirring cog that simply slipped from place, 

A pawn in the stories of others desires of faded success.

She was their little angel painted and plastered

Their little rag doll all bruised and battered

She was their salvation but still of little matter

A barren nest to unconditional affections

Trained from birth to resist the piercing bullets

Made anxious by reflected memories

She was their pride and joy in a moment

Their deepest regret another

She was their salvation but still of little matter