“A Puppet with Many Strings.”

I used to work real hard
A circus life no lie
One day then another
Simply flew on by
It’s true what they say about working another man’s dream
Your life fades . . .  follow your own dreams

The future comes on hard
So put aside your past
Embrace all the wisdom learned
And have yourself a blast
It’s true what they say about time not standing still
For times a . . .  bitter fricken pill . . .

I am just a puppet
With many different strings
When the master pulls
I get into the swing
It’s true what they say about not controlling a thing
Doesn’t this have . . .  a bitter fricken ring . . .

Age has taken its toll
Still a puppet with many strings
When the master pulls
Ya it’s hard to get into the swing
It’s true what they say you still don’t control a thing
Soon the time will come . . .  you know what I mean . . .

Suddenly, your time has come
And you’re placed upon a shelf
All of your strings are cut
You’re replaced by someone else
It’s true what they say about having an identity
Even though your strings are cut . . .  you’ll never be free . . .

As you’re removed from the fricken shelf
You end up in a box
All by your fricken self
Oh, to be forgotten
Unwanted for anything
Oh, ya wouldn’t you know . . .  You still don’t control a thing . . .

Suddenly the box is opened
By a new set of hands
They clean and polish you up
And put on some new strings
When the master pulls
You get into the swing
Oh, ya wouldn’t you know . . .  You still don’t control a thing . . .

No matter the roll . . . No matter the goal . . . No matter the place . . .  No matter the time . . .
You’re the same as before . . . A puppet with many strings . . .