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Strings
July 15, 2008
The sand keeps on slipping
As the pendulum swings
Living as puppets
Being yanked at our strings
Curtain falls to final curtain
Bound too tightly by these threads
Doomed to dance this dance forever
Until the master deems us dead
With deep blue tattered curtains
In a withered shoe box stage
Biting tongues behind painted smiles
Concealing porceline rage
So take those shiny scissors
And snip until your loose
Simply preservation when
Those strings are like a noose
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