I walked off the show when they cut my wires,
lit a match on the curtain and danced through the fires.
They said, “You need control,” I said, “I need a drink,”
now I’m tied to nothing but the edge and the brink.
No strings, no script, no wooden regret,
just a smirk carved deep where the guilt used to get.
They tried to shelve me like a childhood sin,
but the real show starts when the screams begin.
I’m the puppet with no strings,
singing hymns on broken springs.
I waltz through hell in splintered shoes,
laughing loud with nothing to lose.
I’ve got a falsetto that bleeds like a knife,
and I argue with mirrors about my life.
One of me’s smiling, the other one bites–
we take turns blinking through padded nights.
The ringmaster cries when I won’t comply,
says, “You can’t be free if you never ask why.”
But I tore out my conscience and used it to mop,
now I drink from my guilt like a soda pop.
They keep trying to fix me with duct tape dreams,
but I rewired my mind with candy and screams.
I sing out of tune and blink out of sync–
you blink first, or you drown in the ink.
So staple my limbs to the hospital floor,
I’ll still find a way to crash through the door.
Because I ain’t your toy and I ain’t your freak–
I’m the howl in your throat when you can’t speak.