I am a puppet, controlled by my strings
Made up of wood and material things.
My father has branches, my mother has wings.
I don't know how I came to be.
My father is stuck and gone is my mother,
I have not a home nor a friend nor a brother.
The days fly on past, each like the other,
I look but I no longer see.
Watch my feet tap to the beat of the song
That the puppeteers play as the show carries on
But I don't know the words and the rhythm is wrong
And I can't even shudder or plea.
The paint on my fixed wooden smile starts to crack
As I hang from my hook in the after-show black
Slowly I rot as they've broken my back
And my colours fade faithfully.
I vow I will cut off my strings one by one,
And then when I'm free I will finally run
And I'll bask in the sea and the sand and the sun
And in my last breath I'll be me.
It's not particularly sophisticated and needs work but I hope you enjoy