A puppet strangled by its own strings
And controlled by a passionate psychopath
So happy by his little doll
Trying to master the mechanism craft
A beautiful marionette
With a sad eye
With a silent voice
And an obligatory laugh
An owner dressing it with lovely dresses
That matches her dreamy eyes
With charming little ribbons
Just to tie her by
But all the grace and the joy is a costume
All the exterior is a lie
She is just an obedient instrument
Used as a tool only for its director to ply
A lifeless static pushover
Used as a humbled servant for its majesty’s satisfaction
A helpless victim, in his smothering handle
A puppet with lumps in its texture
With burnt holes in its material
Appeared dressed like a highness
But her sorrow and grief undress her.