Sunday, 17 February 2008
04:11:49 AM (GMT)
He makes me lazily swing,
and constantly sing.
I dance fluidly from this wire,
controlled by my puppet master, The King.
My silent oppression causes my weary soul to sting.
This makes my situation dyer,
but the freedom of others tends to inspire.
Maybe I'll snap my translucent strings;
hear myself hit the stage with a definite cling.
I see my King begin to tire,
from the marionette business I shall blissfully retire.
Last edited: 12 October 2008