Ballerina In The Music Box

In the corner of a circus tent, there lies a dusty box, Its wooden frame is cracked and worn, beneath forgotten locks. But every night the wheel turns slow, the gears begin to grind, And from the shadows, she appears, a ballerina confined. Her porcelain skin, so pale, so cold, Her eyes like glass, forever sold. She spins in silence, trapped in time, A prisoner of a lullaby's rhyme. Oh, the music plays, but her heart is still, In this twisted dance, against her will. Round and round, she spins alone, In the circus lights, so far from home. Oh, she dreams of skies, but they'll never be, For the ballerina in the music box can never be free. The ringmaster's voice, it calls the crowd, with laughter in the air, But beneath the smiles and sparkling lights, she hides a deep despair. Her fragile feet, they twirl and turn, in endless, silent grace, Yet tears, unseen, stream from her soul, forever bound in place. Her porcelain skin, so pale, so cold, Her heart a secret, never told. She longs for love, for life, for light, But she's condemned to dance through the night. Oh, the music plays, but her heart is still, In this twisted dance, against her will. Round and round, she spins alone, In the circus lights, so far from home. Oh, she dreams of skies, but they'll never be, For the ballerina in the music box can never be free. The crowd is gone, the lights fade dim, But still, the song keeps pulling her in. She whispers her pain to the moon above, A song of sorrow, a song of love. Oh, the music plays, but her heart is still, In this twisted dance, against her will. Round and round, she spins alone, In the circus lights, so far from home. Oh, she dreams of skies, but they'll never be, For the ballerina in the music box can never be free. The crowd is gone, the lights fade dim, But still, the song keeps pulling her in. She whispers her pain to the moon above, A song of sorrow, a song of love.