Each jerk and spring of the strings
breaks further wooden limbs.
Each crack, division, along mahogany design
grants fragments and damage evaluation.

Crow! Crow for help in your tragedy,
you silent puppet, mouth all wide
and wooden: like your casket.
Gaping, gapping, dirt-noise.

Your swift understanding damns you,
your intelligence - harms you.
God bless those men He made with sentience,
God bless those ones He sold
to Life, our great Puppet-Master,
and Player of us all.

It's evident
when the strings twist and crawl,
that some poor bast**d is fighting.
And we know, we know: Poor Puppet,

he's a lost soul.