• It's the thought that slips through every crack of the mind;
    little words that can control just about every little thing you do.
    Taking a place at the stadium, one by one, they sit and wait.
    Waiting for the never ending game just to end.
    Each and everyone of them knowing,
    just feeling what it's like to be pulled along in someone else's games.
    All of them screaming and chanting words that have no meaning,
    "What are you doing? the frantic voice that does nothing but worry.
    Only soon be followed by the voice of guilt, "Is this what you are wanting to do?"
    Then finally rage is the only thing left to scream, "You have got to be kidding me!"
    All the emotions that have nothing to do with what you need.
    These feelings are not your friend,
    they are just enemies,
    telling us that what we're doing is not right.
    They all say that the puppet master has to control every puppet,
    to make sure that everyone is used properly, to where they obey.
    That every command that is given must be acknowledged;
    but what if the Master's cunningness was out witted?
    Begging to be let go,
    begging for mercy, that it was just a game.
    That they never meant for anyone to get hurt,
    it was only for there quirks in life; their own pleasures.
    The Master of all Puppets was the one that had no control.
    To be controlled: to confess the mere plans he had.
    A mindless control freak that has every marionette on a silver string.
    Just leaving them to struggle with their own lives by such a thin string.
    A silver, glistening string, that holds them all together.
    Bound to one another; suffering from what one person does.