Puppet Boy.

Play with your strings
And maybe you'll sing
A beautiful, beautiful song,
But the melody is long gone.

Your eyes, they smart,
And tear and start
To bleed as you choke.
And now you will char and smoke.

The master, he says not to fret.
But you can only bet
That he has something in store
For you, and it is filled with horror and gore.

A knife, perhaps, and an alibi.
Time to say goodbye...
The strings will be cut
And the knife shall end up wedged in your gut.

With your last dying gasp,
Your wooden jaw unclasps,
And you whisper your famous last words;
Breathe your trembling words.

"You are the master and I am the puppet,
But that means nothing in this final stage set."
And as he faded, the mannequin wearing the most evil of grins,
The puppeteer falls; the victim wins.

"You are the master and I am the puppet,
But that means nothing in this final stage set.
For you are the human and I am the toy,
And you will always lose and the winner will always be Puppet Boy."