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.