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Curtains raise, they take the stage, mute actors that never age. The clouds are cotton, the floor is pine, the souls bound up in fine twine. Crowds will cheer, the players dance, flowing scene to scene as in a trance. The world is perfect, they never whine, for there's not a single will, save mine. The play has ended, we take a bow, but the viewers are the actors now. When freed from decision, of thought and blame, we'll walk to another drum just the same. |
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puppet theater dolls are silent and unchanging stage is a mock up of the world marionettes are given an appearance of life by their strings expressions are frozen with only one mind there can never be disagreement nor decent if we don't think for ourselves someone else will do it for us |
