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lyrics: J. Morse © 1983 Open the curtain on a lifeless form Blessed with animation Somehow he's become alive And thinking on his own But still you treat him like a worm A Hollywood creation Yet in his mind, he knows his heart Is finally, fully grown Pull a string, he moves along Can you tell the motion's wrong The manner incorrect Independent of you at last Still remembering his past And knowing its effect Even ones with hearts of stone Can understand his pain Held in chains of silver and gold But freedom's worth much more Someday the puppeteer will be shown His devices yield no gain So often now, the story told But still you bar the door You're still under the false impression He couldn't instigate aggression "After all, he's not alive" You think he's under your control You never accounted for his soul "What can he possibly contrive?" You're in for a hell of a shock Take the stage with your creation Make him seem a fool Pull the strings, control his life Force his movements along Show him off across the nation Use him as your tool But keep your eye out for the knife You deserve - you've done wrong The ties have been undone The slave whose life you'd begun Has bolted for the door The strings are cut, you pay the debt Now realize, your Marionette Isn't yours. . . anymore |