Cut the Line

The stage is set. The lights are low. You move exactly

where they go. A golden thread around your wrist. A little pull, a sudden twist.

You think you're walking on your own. But every step was carved in

stone. Oh! Oh, the puppet master smiles

from a tower built of glass. He's pulling on the wires, watching all the

shadows pass. You dance to the rhythm. You shout when you're told.

Trading in your spirit for a story they have sold. They feed the

fear. They spark the fight. They keep you waking in the