I sit upon my wooden chair,
and watch the world below.
What happens below is unfair,
as i watch God's puppet show.
My fingers curl into a fist,
and sweat rolls down my brow.
The summer's snow, and the spring's mist
as i watch God's puppet show.
The throne on which i take my seat,
trembles beneath my form.
With all the people that i did not meet,
it surely would be quite a storm.
To sit upon a chair so old,
that it trembles at just the thought.
It might be soft and full with mold,
but its greatness counts for naught.
As i watch God's puppet show.
Within my chest the silence casts,
a darkness on my mood.
The love that used to fill it lasts,
only the mind to let me brood.
The surges that pass through my brain,
is enough to kill a god.
If such existed i would not be sane,
to watch God's puppet show.
A single droplet rolls off my face,
with all my troubles contained.
My heart would find reason to race,
if it still was fully chained,
within my body as it does down there,
to the ants living in ther hill.
As they pay homage to their unholy queen,
and i watch God's puppet show.
Lightning streaks across the sky,
and thunder follows afterward.
One by one the puppets die,
and others are born in likelihood.
Life goes on as it does,
men are born to die.
Men are born to love 'cuz,
that's the rule from the sky.
I slowly turn my face around,
and reach for the remote.
I place my feet upon the ground.
And i close God's puppet show.
