So you think you can move my
limbs on the whim of you’re decision,
And you think you can make me talk with fine concise precision.
Well go on with this fantasy notion,
Of making me move when you desire motion,
But there is no controlling the hand when I make the final incision.
Pull the right string so that I may salute you,
Pull them just right and I will nod at you too.
But pulling them with force,
Will put my limbs in a revengeful course,
With that killing expression look on cue.
I’ll be you’re Pinocchio, sing and dance you’re tune,
And think you’re thoughts and play the goon.
But when it comes time to cut me loose,
I will make my strings you’re special noose,
And bring you to you’re very doom.
So I will walk you’re walk and play you’re game,
But this game plays like all the same.
You are the one that must be right,
When wrong you’re far away from sight,
Then you pull the strings and give me the blame.
So continue to move me with strings tied so sore,
And think I do you’re bidding to the very core.
Just remember when the strings are gone,
You’re pleading will be my desired song,
When I come back for my final encore.
