Poor little puppet, sitting alone.
No skin and no heart, no mind of its own.
A sad life is left to those made of stone, if only, if only, you weren't so alone.
Left to sit on a shelf, as dust starts to surround you,
Owned by one so unkind, if only another had found you.
Don't fret little puppet, up on your shelf all alone;
They think you can't feel it, with your heart made of stone.
And as the dust settles and you're slowly forgotten,
Just remember the words you yelled when you fought him.
Not always a puppet up on a shelf,
Just a young,lonley girl, hated by herself.
And as the yelling subsided you ran from your love,
All that was left, a note and a dove.
And the dove turned crimson and faded away.
A note that was left,
"You shall forget me one day".
Pull her strings, little marianette,
Theres nothing to live for, just an old life to forget.
So pull these strings hard and bend them to your will,
May they be the noose,
Can you bring yourself to kill?
One last gasping breath, a dying sigh,
I'm sorry my love, but this is goodbye.
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