Dance Puppet

March 25, 2011
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Inebriation of the senses through a synthetic kind of love,
Your mind is a feather (probably an understatement).

Emotions and actions following the wind,
Nothing to lead your soul and you fall.

You give way to the puppeteer, dance puppet,
And you die until a new dance becomes fashioned.

One leaf descends into the abyss of winter,
another follows, followed by another.

But I am the tree,
I will stand the test of time.

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