Puppets of Mine

These puppets of mine are my best friends of all;

They play with me and I feel like I'm no longer so small;

This is perfection and this is my art;

And for an eternity of it I'd sacrifice even a heart.

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I'm creepy and scarred and doomed to this;

But while holding my puppets it all turns to bliss.

This is all I need;

And from life I will feed;

And I'll leave a village I'll no longer miss.

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These puppets of mine are no longer enough;

I need to smooth something that used to be rough;

Make my perfect puppets from people I knew;

Eternally mine, with no action untrue.

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But in this one moment they act out from thought;

And all the work that I did all comes to a rot.

I knew this was coming;

And my heart beat stops drumming;

From two puppets that old master forgot.

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This puppet that's me has broke someone's heart;

In a dark small space he shudders and is deprived of his art;

He wants me to live, and to be completely fair;

I should tell you, my puppets, that I really don't care.