Her face is white as porcelain
Her lips are thin and red
And as the concertina plays
He tilts her fragile head
The voice that he embodies
Has a churlish, silly sound
He helps her do a courtesy
And then makes her spin around
Her floral dress, conservative
Her frilly blouse too tight
Those fallen locks have lost their shine
But who is she to fight?
She’s at the mercy of his hands
She doesn’t have control
The only life she’s ever known
Is as a passive doll
She’s tired of the girlishness
The way he moves her hands
She hates the curtseys and the nods
The way he makes her stand
And suddenly as if possessed
Viola takes her reins
Decides to pull on her own strings
And breaks free from her chains
She smiles a smile so devilish
It almost cracks her cheeks
Does a crazy, happy dance
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WILDsound Festival 