I dangle from the threads of his control,
And dance upon his whim.
I live when he brings me to life,
And when he is away I lie dead.
He would say he does not impose his will,
And I merely am too weak,
And I beg for the strings to make me stand,
Lest I fall limply to the ground.
But I ask why he animates me,
This Puppeteer without a heart?
Puppets have no private lives, alas,
They run away from the looking glass.
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