The Doll

With a fixed glare it scans the room, on its throne amidst the gloom, it seeks a place to stretch its limbs, to start its midnight wanderings.
By vivid light the doll will dance,though still its eyes stay in a trance,its secret it will never tell, for it was forged in the fires of hell.
As morning breaks its body stiffens, to force it to its last position,and with great effort it will resume,its former throne amidst the gloom.
The doll, the doll, the face of death, the doll is now alive.