Blind alleys of puppets.
They're strolling on strings.
Off into obsessive oblivion.
Then you go and die.
Who's gonna cry over your spilled pots of lies?
The switch was flicked in the dungeon of doom.
The one with affection ,you call your bedroom.
Flicked by she, not he.
She grins from ear to ear, like Carroll's Cheshire cat.
That was that, she is free.
She always was you see.
(C) LIVVI