Thin strings attached to every joint and limb,
A face so sullen and her body slim.
Tightly connected to the Puppeteer's hand,
condemned to obey his every command.

If only I had scissors to set her free
My poor dear Miss Marionette Marie

She's jolted up with a flick of his wrist,
her legs are weary but she cant resist.
The audience gasps at her awkward stance,
but silently watch her gloom tainted dance.

Tonight's headline on the theater marquee:
"Come see Poor Miss Marionette Marie."

Her arms are pulled stiffly in sharp angles,
below, her loosely swaying legs dangle.
Colorful makeup and eyelashes curled,
but despite the doll stature, she's a real girl.

She's trapped in the art of Puppetry,
My poor Dear Miss Marionette Marie.

The Puppeteer bows and releases the strings,
to the floor she is thrown with a careless fling.
There in the alley behind the saloon,
is where our sad puppet's body is strewn.

You'll never find someone as sad as she,
My poor Dear Miss Marionette Marie