You open your mouth
But you don’t say a word
Man, you gotta think what you say and what is heard
People around you got you pulled up in strings
You can’t even show the slightest hurt no more
You gotta go hide if you gonna shed a tear
Because them people are the Puppeteer
They say one thing
You gonna believe it?
So you open up your mouth
Spit out words
They pull at your back and you vomit out what your see
Images of those Puppeteers just like they thrown you drowning in the ocean they created
They dress you up
What a toyish thing
Well that’s what they think you are
You got dark hair, dark skin
You can’t hide those things
Well he said, she said that that Johnny likes her
Go and be the puppet and do what you’re told
Man, like days and nights go by so fast
Now you plaster your face like Botox
Hello to those bitches and hoes
Everybody thinks like how it’s suppose to go
When strings got your body held up tight
You let the bruises inside
Then he said he gonna take you out tonight
Man that sounds awful nice
But she said that he’s had sex before so you gonna think twice?
You got women with strings held up tight
Controlling their body with no fight
There is one string in particular that’s harder than gold
This string is attached to your head and your heart
Everybody pulls that one in every which way
You got people telling you what to do and say
Add some time if you’ve got some thoughts in your china doll head
Blink your eyes and pull your head up by yourself
Ignore the haters and give them the middle finger
Look at you with your arms above your head and your legs spread wide
Look at that, you’re like caught in a spider web
So dunk your head underwater and screw it on tight
Then one day you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a string off just right
Now the strings pull you tighter seeing what you got
Looks like you gotta get stronger with a weapon of heart
So you grab a fistful of strings to your left and you yank with all mighty
You control your own body now
Now it feels like a spotlight in front of millions
You take stage feeling gutsy and wounded
There’s one string in particular that the Puppeteer still has
But this time it’s weak and frail
You pull out a knife and pluck at the string making a rhythm sound
Those assholes don’t matter as you turn around
You are yourself, with one life now
Instead of tying strings to your body
Why don’t you grow wings instead?
Don’t make the mistake of the Puppeteer’s Plague