I’m your patchwork puppet.

Stitched and stuffed in every layer.

Built solely by lies and prayer.

Pull my strings till I can’t see their

Eyes while they sit on high

And glare sharp knives

At those who’ve done no wrong.

As they sit and sing 

Their small sad songs;

Sorrowful cries.

That go heard and left ignored.

Disregarded, nothing more.

Supplications they abhor.

Children sit with bated breath.

Fearing the untimely death

Of freedoms deemeth’d

Guaranteed by those 

Who claim they’d bleed,

To keep them safe and sound.

Oh I’m your patchwork puppet,

Seated on a board amongst pawns. 

Puppeteered and moved play by play 

By those who have “done no wrong.”

Selected to be elected,

A united world stands disconnected.

Torn apart by our own devices

Doomed eternally indecisive.

Yes it’s me, your patchwork puppet.

I’ll be so good I promise.

I’ll listen up, won’t disobey

Play how you want me to play.

Only say what you want to hear.

Though I fear the end draws near.

I’ll clutch my chest and stifle tears

For your words are hellfire to my ears.

“Love thy neighbor” you say, 

As you stomp them down.

“Thou shalt not kill” you preach,

As you level towns.

Liberty,

Freedom,

And justice for all.

Except for you.

And so the patchwork puppet,

Torn and tarnished at its seams.

Hopes that somewhere out there a silver lining

Somehow gleams.

But now’s not the time for such things.

For whom I wonder the bell will ring.

The children, scared of what tomorrow brings.

Lay down their heads 

In familiar beds

That no longer feel like home.

And so the night fades,

And gives way to mourning.

And those who’ve done no wrong,

Are left behind to atone.