The Puppet Master
When the Puppet Master pulls the strings,
His faithful servant comes alive,
But what the Master doesn't know,
Is that every time he pulls,
A part of his apprentice dies.
Manipulation, fear, and death,
Prolong themselves,
On spools of thinning thread,
As once and always,
The Master reigns,
Jerking the ropes that bind,
And manipulate, the young man's mind.
The apprentice is left hanging, weak and limp.
Until his soul is bare and raw,
And the tragedy is,
That no one saw.
Yet the show goes on,
Playing for a faceless crowd,
As the Master continues to pull the strings,
He laughs his maniacal laugh,
In his stunningly wretched display of craft.
His puppet's eyes are glossy,
As the binds cut further into his wrists,
No longer a child,
His being dissipates into the dark.
As he is twisted into a grotesque pose,
And dances his slave's dance.
The Master continues to play,
To no one.
And the echoes of his Puppet's screams,
Find no ears to rest themselves upon.
The puppet's stuffing begins to fall.
Like snowy death,
Onto the bleeding rocks,
And shattered grass,
As faithfully, he continues his dance.
Because this is the Puppet Master's power,
To enchant a soul,
As he blows out a candle,
And the sky grows black,
Yellow eyes emerge,
Powerless he kneels,
Before the magician,
Who brands him with his obscure magic,
And the sun sinks into eclipse.
He is powerless as his heart is strung,
Upon this twine,
Of helplessness and crime.
And silence reverberates, and deafens his ears,
And finally he falls,
Into the Emperor's abyss,
Of tears and shadows,
The show continues,
Ticket stubs forming themselves into pleas for reckoning,
As the Master walks upon the stage,
And opens his hands,
To welcome the apocalypse,
And maelstrom of chaos,
He picks up his strings,
And his soulless puppet,
Once again begins to dance his inclement dance.
As he twirls away, his last chance.
So welcome in, this eternal night,
And let his perfidy fall upon your ears,
For that, dear friends,
Is the Puppet Master's lullaby.
