I am a puppet
Bound by your strings.
You control me -
My every movement is sharp and precise.

You take up the strings
And make me walk -
Up and down those stairs to hell.
You control how fast I move.

I try to resist,
But the strings are made of steel -
The ties to my wrists burn
As if they were branded with Satan's prod.

You pull the strings taught,
Jerking my limp form erect.
You show me no mercy
In my public humiliation for your entertainment.

When you tire of my performance,
You drop the strings -
Still tied to my bleeding wrists,
Leaving me in a broken heap on the stage you created for my demise.