Marionette

Janice has flowers in her hair

she's such a pretty girl.

She travels all around the world

and brings laughter everywhere.

Her hair so lush it can be said

t'was the beautiest painter's brush.

Her lips were pink as painted china

etched with India's vibrant ink.

Yet as she moves around the stage

brightly springing through the air

my shadow's trodden under feet

till not a soul could see.

She cost me such a pretty penny

a pretty penny for a pretty doll

yet never could I have foreseen

the audience under her thrall.

They cheer for her, for her alone

and she bows and preens for more.

Her strings they pull on my fingertips

I am bounded to her core.

Flowers, I've taken to my hair,

the pink ink to my lips.

Call me Janice, this is my doll

but truth, she's my down fall.