Verbeley

strings and dolls and a wilted rose a master puppeteer in a hounted house she's a speck of dust, a bit of rust in a place you've never seen before. up the stairs, and on the wall in an old room, in the dark there's a portrait of a girl pale, brown hair and dressed in black. you think you know her, seen her before, she is so sweet after all, one would think she has nothing else to show but a gentle smile, for a long long while, and nobody notices her eyes are ice cold. jokes, and laughs and pleasant smiles she's deceiving, it's a disguise all her words are gorgeous lies, people turn to puppets until she gets her prize and it's nothing mat