A master puppeteer,

Someone who the crowd will cheer

But I am stuck in the box,

He is the man I fear. A tug with a stick,

He pulls me and I kick

He says go this way; I do- who am I to disapprove?

I am nothing but a puppet stuck in his mad show

Freedom is something I only pretend to know.

Down on this floor,

He's got me down so low,

How far can this go?

Blood, sweat and tears,

In a puddle it all begins to flow,

How much will one pay to see this sick, twisted show?

They don't see our face,

They don't see our pain,

Our strings tangle and choke as we frantically grope,

A slight breath of clarity,

A slight touch of hope.

But there's nothing like that in this sick show!

Stifle another scream as we feel a prod and poke,

He stares down at us in vengefulness behind a cloud of black smoke,

We stare at our feet as they move this way and that,

Just another day in this brutal combat,

Strings tight,

We try to fight,

Some even attempted to take flight,

But to no avail,

He overpowered, he did prevail.

He didn't think twice to have one impaled.

We plead and pray,

Don't let us fail.

Should we cut the strings?

Should we risk the fury that could bring?

Can we fight together as team?

Stand together, or fall one by one in heaps of charred steam.

Is there a way to turn this nightmare into a dream?

A way for us to ever fight to be free?

You see our wooden limbs brittle and weak, but we are so much stronger than we seem.

Just you wait and see,

We will stand,

We will be free,

You may see us merely as a doll on strings,

But make no mistake,

This heart isn't fake,

We've had all we can take,

So now we have a choice,

Do we make some noise?

Do we sever these strings now?

Or be forced to take one last silent bloody bow… with our lion master on the prowl?