A cliche forever cast
as a puppet bound with string
and one day the tears will pass
and the cliche will grow wings
and the locusts will fly out
into the sun
and block out the light
and anyone left in the dark
remains a puppet
and the muppety face of saddness
poors from out tellevisions
and binds us to strings
and clips our wings
and blocks out the sun
and when the train has stopped
you are left with no-one
and your limbs can not move
without the strings
and your face is not your own
and your heart shreiks and fights
but you can never find it again
they have turned out the lights
and you are nothing but a puppet
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