What's this..a new idea?,
says the puppeteer letting down his strings. We shall play by the narrative of skepticism one wrong move and I will have to cut your strings.
I control your every move demands the puppeteer
You will never have to learn to trust yourself it's for you own good the puppeteer continued.

My dear puppet what's the matter you no longer dance, you no longer have a smile on your face.
I have sheltered you from such sorrow you display.
Is it that time, has it become that day. Where I must cut your strings. You finish your final scene. It all seems to end but death to one's old self to begins.