• 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?