The Puppet Master.

One tap makes them dance,
A twist of the wrist makes them fall.
Though, even the slightest tug can right them once more.

Always swirling and jigging about at my beck and call,
Completely under my control.

It’s infuriating really, to be so special...
But yet so sad;
Power corrupts us all, one by one in her own little game,

Of games I have plenty
If you’re willing to learn, no matter if you’re not;
For you will soon learn

I can even make you dance a jig or a trot,
Though you may not desire to be helped up by strings and wrapped in barbed wire.

Does it even matter in the end?
You know I’ll win, I always do
So won’t you come over here, oh dearest one?

It really is in your best interest,
As I pluck the strings, my talent, my music of sorts;
A melody far sweeter than any Sirens call
Binds you to me once more.

So I say it again, not once more so listen close dearest one
As there is little time to spare,
Will you come over here and whisper softly in my ear,
The sweet nothings of none the likes I could ever hear?

Who am I you ask?
The pretty maid behind the mask

I crack a smile to entreat your desire and say,
“Why the puppet master my dearest, won’t you come and play?”