Strings on my fingers,
Strings on my toes,
Strings tied in places I don’t even know.

Strings in my mind hitched to different people,
Puppeteer with his strings that he pulled though his vessel,
For I am not free,
Nor do I see,
He is more than just a part of me.

Strings on my fingers,
Strings on my toes,
Strings tied in places I don’t even know.

I am pulled this way and that way for it is how I work,
Once to the left and then five to the right,
Seven to the west and then sleep in the east,
I am a vessel with a puppeteer as my master.

Strings on my fingers,
Strings on my toes,
Strings tied in places I don’t even know.

They were moving to quick,
My strings tied to his wood,
I couldn’t keep up,
I was like a fiddle he was playing,

STOP

Sweet dissociation from my thoughts and the strings he was swaying,
Sweet dissociation from my mind in which he keeps playing,
Sweet dissociation from our selves,
My only solace from his incessant turmoiling.

Strings on my fingers,
Strings on my toes,
Strings tied in places I don’t even know.