Voodoo Child

The voodoo child hangs by a thread
from an old oak tree
all sticks of wood and string is she
Listlessly gazing upon the dead...

Life's past her by,
the little lonely voodoo child
no one knows, no one cares
to approach her, no one dares.

A wooden face, a triangular head
hangs low for the world to see
just a little bit like you and me
curled softly sobbing upon the bed...

Life's past us by,
like the little lonely voodoo child
no one knows, no one cares
to approach us, no one really dares

The others see her and shake their head
As far away as Tuscany
to understand them, this is the key:
What they don't know is what they dread

Life passes her by
the lonely little voodoo child
no one knows, no one cares
they don't approach her, it’s just not fair.