If I’m just a puppet,
Then who is my master?
Who’s behind the scenes,
Plotting my disaster?

Pulling on my puppet strings,
As I dance my dance,
Am I the one who…
Decides to take a chance,
Or is it just the puppet master?
Am I him or is he me?
Does he control my thoughts;
Am I a tool of he?

I want to take my scissors,
And cut those blasted strings,
That are part of me,
That controls all the things:
That I do, and
That I say,
What I think,
What is the price I pay,
To be alive and move around?

But am I alive,
Or just another toy?
Never trying to strive
To do my best,
Or make a choice
To talk aloud?

So hear my voice,
“We are all just puppets,
The only question is,
If you’re a puppet,
Then who’s your master?”