Her long thick string tightly tied,
can't cut or break.
Grasped firmly,
freedom and sanity it takes.
As I stray from the post in the ground down,
the string stretches and I rebound.
Dragging me back, through mud, rock and stone,
Back at this post I sit sore, tired and alone.

Fetch me out of my case
Handle with care my prized lacquered face
Rest gently my wooden veneered base
Cradle my neck and prepare to lace

Wipe off my fret with a towel
Gift to me your first string
Fasten one end with a dowel
More to do before I sing

Other end, goes into my head
Through one pinhole, allow some slack
Remaining strings, the same you will thread
Strung side by side, along their tracks

Now tighten, wind them taut
Work away the looseness
Stash aside all other thoughts
My voice almost heard albeit tuneless

Here I lay; quiet and strung
You'd have to give me my voice
Then I'd speak but only in your tongue
Then I'd sing only if it's your choice

Prop me up, caress my earthy spine
I'd mouth your words according to pitch
United through movement, manipulate my lines
Your script; my mouth, seamlessly we'd stitch

Your fingers, they twitch and flick
Willing the most lifelike of gestures
Rising and falling of my strings you'd pick
Whimsical dance between slaves and masters

My body over which I have no control
Helplessness overcome my entire being
In my fibres, grains and knots, bore no soul
Without you I lay limp; close to nothing

You need me to project your speech
I need you to make me feel alive
Off of each other, we'd feed and leech
As both hosts and parasites, together we'd thrive

I am one of yours but not the favourite pet
I am just an extension of your unfortunate self
I am wood, dead and lifeless; a strung up marionette
Not a guitar but your fancy puppet sitting on the shelf