Set me free of this irony
that is anything but what's her name?
Too many spoons and all you need is fork
or
just a small spark of imagination.
It is all a game with a long forgotten name.
Predated and fated.
Jaded and traded
I know not what I say.
My fingers lead the way
and the farther back I stand,
the more likely I am to land on two feet.
Or at the very least a comfy cozy seat.
Cause I am a mere vessel, a shell,
of something that I cannot name.
Pull my string,
wind me up, ...