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.