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Description
Puppet Tree

To be born a puppet pleading with the lie within
"I am more" as my own arm gently moves behind
strung upon the thread, left dangling from an end
I am as much wood as my home fire's burning
and with another lie I feel myself becoming real
"there are no strings" sure to sink again or swim
for are we ever cutting cords in our confessions
to know the one who holds the strings in silence
while mastering the art of stretching ties that bind
we dance to different tunes in the lie that we are free
like Pinocchio we lie yet by some miracle still become real
and while never really severed, we are left with some play.

Description
Puppet Tree

To be born a puppet pleading with the lie within
"I am more" as my own arm gently moves behind
strung upon the thread, left dangling from an end
I am as much wood as my home fire's burning
and with another lie I feel myself becoming real
"there are no strings" sure to sink again or swim
for are we ever cutting cords in our confessions
to know the one who holds the strings in silence
while mastering the art of stretching ties that bind
we dance to different tunes in the lie that we are free
like Pinocchio we lie yet by some miracle still become real
and while never really severed, we are left with some play.