You can wish and
you can pray
you can hope for
a brighter day
you’ll see the gate to freedom
and you’ll always get halfway
but none of your wishes
will come true
you’ll never be
a real boy
until the strings
they pull are taken ‘way
You may have skin
and you can dance
and once I think
you crapped your pants
yet a puppet you will stay
until your strings
are old and gray
you will remain
their easy prey
you’ll never wander
you’ll never stray
you’ll never wonder
you’ll never play
You’ll never be
a real boy
The Halfwit Writer 