They dance around.
They laugh, they sing.
Those puppets on a string.
They talk, they shout.
It’s never real; there’s always doubt.
Those puppets on a string.

​

They play along.
A game-a-thon.
Those puppets on a string.

​

They blindly go
Because it’s so
And never know
The cage is closed; the air is thick.
Their muddled minds have long been sick
Those puppets on a string.

​

Their lives are ruled by iron hands
Who deign to reign o’er all the land
Whose purpose is to keep them down
To bend their will and build the crown
Those puppets on a string.

​

At last, they see the light of day
An ill-will scent has blown their way
Alas it’s late; the game is done
The door is closed; the crown has won.
Those puppets on a string.

A few refuse
It’s not too late
And never time to seal our fate.
The bold, the brave, the ones who care
Let freedom reign
For those who dare.
No puppets on a string.