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Puppet On A Silver String
The frosted air waltzes to the sound of night
There among the embers of winter is a light
That sparkles in the pitching darkly canvass
This night I see the magic, of his Holy Grace
The beauty of a winter scene, the interlude
The journey of stars that glitter in fortitude
The mesmerizing moon the song of a loon
Lakes of ebony citadels of gold by a dune
Burnt sierra sunsets over a fading orange sky
The hills are asleep as the crow begins to fly
The moon is a lovely shade of autumn wheat
While the willows in the wind begin to weep
The master holds a tangled violin under his chin
Softly I dance before him, in my fading crinoline
Like a puppet on a silver string he lifts my face
As I dance for him, I am filled with only grace
There among the embers of a winter dream
My body finds a temple, in the night’s sheen
I can see every line and contour of a Holy Face
This night I see the magic, of his Holy Grace
Lyrics written on the moon
On a night such as this
His Mystic Rose xxx
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