Little ballerina spinning in a little China box
Music coming from within, hopeful and soft
In that dusty old basement in that dusty old house

Porcelain doll sitting, forgotten as the music box
Once a treasured toy, now eyeless and moldy
On that dusty old shelf in that dusty old basement

And what have we here? A girl, alone, approaches
Holding a lantern in her arm, quietly searching
Through that dusty old basement she shan't soon forget

Little ballerina screaming in a little China box
Music blasting from within, crazed and angry
As she leaves that dusty old basement in that dusty old house

Porcelain doll laughing, for she is forgotten no longer
Once a useless trinket, no longer eyeless
Never to return to that dusty old shelf in that dusty old basement

And what have we here? A girl, alone, bleeding and crying
A lantern she once held, now broken and burning her arm
In that dusty old basement that she shan't ever forget