Strings strung holding us along,
The glistening edge of space,
White threads peeled across,
A place of deepest yearning,
But crazy is as crazy does,
And marionettes wrangle empty,
Seeking freedom out in the void,
Silent echoes ringing,
So there we find our resting place,
We pick a plot in futures,
We fail the patriot battle song,
And are forever lost,
Yet our strings of puppets,
Marionetted there,
Keep us safe from falling,
In whitest silks we ask ourselves,
Is it all still worth it?
Strings.
