Don't lie to me master,
dead men tell no tales.
With a knife in your palm,
and a carving in my side.
What plagues your heart?
Do tell puppet master,
why do you scream at me?
I have no voice to cry for you,
no soul to sell for you, master.
With no heart,
my eyes are always dry.
But I see you weep,
and my chest begins to ache.
With a swing of your strings,
I dance before your eyes.
You chuckle as if manic,
and jerk at the strings.
I hit the wall in surprise,
eyes wide and stricken.
Why do you laugh?
What is so funny?
Thrown upon your table,
I dance for you master.
You cut a string,
and my arm goes limp.
You pull out scissors,
so bright I see my reflection.
I see fingers fly,
I feel no pain,
none like yours master.
I spin around,
and my leg collapses.
My body crumbles,
exposed on the surface.
A thud and I'm impaled,
a blade through my torso.
I will not cry,
not a tear I would shed.
Master is smiling again,
I wouldn't dream,
of ending his joy.
What a wicked smirk,
upon his lips I wonder.
With a little scarlet box,
set at my side.
My dear puppet master,
so dear and dark.
What do you have planned?
Do tell me master?
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