Between the clouds the strings go down
Sewing each articulation
The sarcastic smiles while his fingers dance
Rowing the puppet's march with dedication

Run! Obey! Sacrifice yourselves!

One line, straight line!
They progress blinded
Toward the paper mountain
That won't pay for your contempt
More tangled the strings move
The puppets fight for space
Chaos taking their heads
The blood in the ditches is black

One line, straight line!
They progress blinded
Toward the paper mountain
That won't pay for your contempt

We are all puppets!
Marching till get tired
It doesn't exist future or past
Only the now exists and it smells bad