Puppets on strings, seeing the sky isn’t straight.
They don’t cut the strings but they try to relate.
If true love isn’t a choice, but fate,
Then I truly hate.

Are we marionettes with no purposed roles?
The only option is to control who controls.
Good names are better than good homes.
Upright morals rather than good fables.

Gardens are beautiful, where the skies are right,
and a flower is lovely in the right light.
Refuge is better when you seek inside,
and the night is better when you’re alive.

My strings are jumbled, and scrambled,
Tangled, and puzzled.
Cutting the puppeteer’s strings will **** me now,
So instead I will join the crowd.

Root truth, so not to be played by lies.
There’s this, that, and baradatat.
Avoid the fakes and the disguised.
So, not to remain in your trap.

Rise, rise up to that cross bar,
remover of strings,
and we will know who we are.
Who we are.

Are we marionettes with no purposed roles?
The only option is to control who controls.
Good names are better than good homes.
Upright morals rather than good fables.

Puppets on strings, seeing the sky isn’t straight.
They don’t cut the strings but they try to relate.
If true love isn’t a choice, but fate,
Then I truly hate.