Bright Eyes

On a string...
On a string...
On a string, I was held.
The way I move, can you tell?
My actions are orchestrated from above.
So I swing and I sway.
Wave my hand, kick my leg,
And it is always right with the music.
"Until all that swaying starts to make you sick..."
For a song I was bought,
Now I lie when I talk
With a careful eye on the cue card.
Onto a stage I was pushed,
With my sorrow well rehearsed.
So give me all your pity and your money, now (all of it)
"We used to think that sound was something pure..."
If I could act like
This was my real life,
And not some cage where I've been placed,
Well then, I could tell you
The truth like I used to
And not be afraid of sounding fake.
Now all anyone's listening for are the mistakes!