When the moon is high and the streets lie bare,
A shadow stirs in the midnight air.
Thread by thread and string by string,
He comes to dance, he comes to sing.
His fingers weave, his lips don’t part,
Yet whispers creep into your heart.
A lullaby soft, a voice like thread,
Tugging the dreams inside your head.
He walks alone where the lanterns fade,
Draped in a coat of velvet shade.
His puppets follow, one by one,
Their hollow eyes reflecting none.
Each face once warm, now pale and still,
Bound by his dark and silent will.
Their fingers twitch, their heads all turn,
As candle flames begin to burn.
He hums a tune, so sweet, so light—
It lures the restless from the night.
One step forward, then two, then three,
You join his dreadful company.
Your feet don’t fight, your hands go slack,
Strings wind tight upon your back.
And in the glow of the lantern’s gleam,
You dance within another’s dream.
And when the dawn begins to rise,
The Puppeteer just softly sighs.
For those he’s taken, lost and gone,
Will dance for him until the dawn.