So weak these arms are
weak enough to be lead by a pair of strings stolen from a puppet
her splinters seem to grow under my skin like roots in the ground;
these annoying strings hold me tightly in place
swing away,swing away
I am led by my choices,my actions are shunned
each path feels like miles away,like walking on a road of hot coal
why must the show go on?
to amuse the ignorant crowd,or the poor boy who sits alone?
I dance for you, only to be shut down by broken legs
so let these strings talk for me once more
whispering sweet nothings as they make tiny innocent cuts
each bruise was not enough
ask me what I have done and you’ll see that these pages burn on
these secrets are her burden alone;
a heavy weight not even a puppet should hold