Dance, puppet
dance,
like you've got no chance
at a mind
of your own.
I am thrown
by your skill
frill
will;
chilled
to the bone,
as you sit
on your throne,
thrilled
to be riding the tide
of anyone's wave...
but your own.
Hide
from the hum
of your own drum,
'cause the common beat
on the street.
will keep you
out of the
heat.
Dance, puppet,
dance,
and thanks for the chance
of my mind
over
"you don't matter"
blues.
Go ahead and leave
your bruise;
you're just a muse...
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