Bound With String

I am the puppet master,
Life flows from my hands.
I am the puppet of the master,
Trapped in puppet lands.

Hide behind the mask,
Pick up the puppet strings,
Hands clutch at my strings,
Pull me different ways,
Hide behind the mask,
And watch the puppet sing.
Hands pluck at my strings,
Tell me what to say.
Paint myself a new face,
Replace the stretched and broken,
Manipulated and left sagging,
Loosely locked from being free
Paint myself a better face,
To cover the sad and broken.
Manipulated and left hanging,
From the cross that bares me.

Am I who I thought I was?
For all its clear to see,
I’m not the man I thought I was,
And he’s never heard of me.

by Stuart Doggett

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