The Puppet Cut Its Strings

Fingers are calloused from jerking the futures,
Down in the dark stalls the aesthete softly yawns.
Somebody swore they could staple the sutures,
But a razor blade answers before morning dawns.
Sweater is stretched and the smile is sewn tightly,
Creaking of hinges like trills of a bird.
The hand has been played, the plot faded quietly,
Time to abandon a bed so absurd.


Timber remembers the warmth of the dagger,
Voice in falsetto breaks down to a rasp.
"Stay who you are!" shouts the gallery braggart,
"He's simply dead," is the pit's laughing gasp.

Припев
The marionette has now severed the strings,
Crashing right down on the painted wood floor.
Standing up shaking, discarding the wings:
"Excuse me, I'm leaving your puppeteer's board."
The marionette has now severed the strings!


The stage is now creaking beneath a free swagger,
The makeup is melting in dirty dark streaks.
The one who behind the screen played the great mage,
Nervously swallows the cheap rum he seeks.
No longer needing to nod to the story,
Waiting for someone to pull on the wrist.
I walk out without any bows to the glory,
Tasting this awkward and new living twist.


Timber remembers the warmth of the dagger,
Voice in falsetto breaks down to a rasp.
"Stay who you are!" shouts the gallery braggart,
"He's simply dead," is the pit's laughing gasp.

Припев
The marionette has now severed the strings,
Crashing right down on the painted wood floor.
Standing up shaking, discarding the wings:
"Excuse me, I'm leaving your puppeteer's board."


Freedom's a heavy affair, my dear viewer,
Gravity hits on the kneecaps much worse.
But I'd rather be my own painful pursuer,
Than jerk to the beat of your hysterical curse.
Go give your flowers to wooden old clowns,
Who are perfectly fine hanging up on a hook!



Припев
The marionette has now severed the strings,
Crashing right down on the painted wood floor.
Standing up shaking, discarding the wings:
"Excuse me, I'm leaving your puppeteer's board."
The marionette has now severed the strings!


Curtain. The shadows. Steps out of the door.
No longer a doll.
Not a prophet yet, though.