The words came out
like a whisper-like grace.
My hands fell
that were wrapped around my neck
and I felt the chill run down my spine.
My frantic thoughts all
took a place in a line.
Ah, a ball that's quite divine.

My idea wasn't this
but I was there anyway.
My feet took to move,
after all of these years.
And I've pulled the stitching from my mouth.
I felt my eyes sneak to near
across the room, where stood a single shadow.
I took the hand of a flower with a single eye,
and we danced to a song of disguised fear.

My hands slipped from their place
crossed on my chest.
My eyes moved from their place
and I woke from rest.
I am a different species, too
dressed in lace.
Can you hear it?
The oozing shadows are filling every empty space.

And it goes back around,
it goes back around until there's no light to be found.
I took my pen and wrote of the dreams,
with filled of innocent screams.
And in a far away place,
a scarlet stream.
This diary of horror I kept away,
the flowers had something to say.

I couldn't seem to see the people's faces,
as they danced in predetermined places.
I couldn't seem to see the fact that,
they were connected to strings.
A dance of marionettes!
To represent falling empires,
the horror of a certain condescension.
I couldn't see their faces because
I knew that interfering is something of regret.

The words came out
in a soft whisper.
My hands fell from their place,
covering my face.
I saw as the fate played out, by a figure respected.
It's like a show, it comes back around.
It's humorous too, watching them grovel on the ground.
I watched it as I held the strings in the land where there is no sound.

Let's have a celebration,
and speak of a cheerful trepidation.
Let's drink our wine,
just me, myself, and I.
I call a toast!
Life as a puppetmaster is everlastingly fine.