They thought they could smash me,
Toy with me, trash me.
But they didn’t ask me —
They made me too well.
I won’t let them break me,
Not if they paid me.
The bastards who made me
Are going to Hell.
Lean in close and give me a kiss,
I’m the monster you made, and I promise you this:
The last plaything you’ll ever make
Is the one you made to break.