• The stage is lit for your performance, my love, in all its wonderous hues
    I sit in my box high above, Ever your faithful muse.

    You play your part,
    Saying your lines and singing your songs beautifully, I find.
    You stole my heart...
    And my mind.

    My script was performed, the crowd gives its gracious applause.
    To the stage, I throw a single rose.
    I fell for you, and with just cause.
    You wink at me and strike a pose.

    But, I fail to see one thing.
    A shimmer above your head.....
    You are connected to strings.
    You have no life, you are dead.

    You are simply a doll, a puppet, a marionette, a thing.

    You do not exist, you are simply here for me.

    My creation....formed from my broken hearts.

    Each time my heart broke, I gave you something more.
    I gave you a sweet disposition, the manners of a gentleman.
    What for?
    If you don't exist, why go through with this plan?

    I feel your wooden body, the cold glass eyes.
    Nothing in there.
    You shed a tear, can you cry?
    I hear a heartbeat, but from where?

    From you, my love?
    Is that why you cry?
    Keep looking, my dove?
    But, why?

    You don't exist, or do you?