A puppet hanging on the strings,
It has no mind, just broken wings.
The film of life it can't rewind,
Its in the dark, the soul is blind.

Like shards of mirror on the floor-
Remains of what it had before.
A hint of perfume, whispring voice,
Its faith determined, ther's no choice.

There is no faith left in the eyes,
Because they show him only lies.
And all it sees- illusions, dreams,
The puppetiers demomic shemes.