Sever the strings that hold you to me,
And I will tell how it was meant to be.
Keep your hands from clasping inside,
O, Puppeteer, because of you I lied.
You made me say things I knew were untrue,
You opened my mouth, and falsehoods came through.
My marionette died for the things I had said,
Crimson ink spills; now I’m covered in red.
No more will I waltz to your dances of death,
I’ll cease being lifeless, and take my first breath.
If you want me to die, you’ll have to set me aflame,
For if you do not, my wooden tongue holds your name.