You are the puppet master, you control my every move, with your invisible hand stuck up my shirt you are pulling every string. Those strings make me work, make me function, make me, me. They control my arms, they control my legs and they control every movement. But it’s the strings the audience don’t see that are causing the most pain. The strings that control my brain, my thoughts, my heart, my very existence.
It was once a pleasant theatrical show, one that all came to see, the puppet master sold the tickets and controlled every movement the audience saw. The audience laughed, the audience cried and the audience watched on in amazement as the puppet appeared to be alive, appeared to have a mind of it’s own. Only the puppet master knew the truth.
The power the puppet master wielded became too strong, it became like a drug that could not be ignored. The master fed off the laughter, grew strong with the cheers, the addiction so strong that when the new ideas dried up things had to change. The puppet had no choice but to yield, no choice but the cede to the force of the puppeteer.
The puppet master began re-writing the past, telling tales out of turn. No story was safe, every happy memory destroyed for the sake of a few laughs. As the addiction grew stronger the lust for appreciation also grew. At the expense of the puppet the master replaced rights with wrong, told fans there was only one side. The audience listened, the audience laughed and the audience became one with the puppet master. History was re-written, new stories believed, those left unbelieving thrown aside and told to leave.
The puppet master laughed and with every string pull a new movement was made.
When the puppet finally snapped and finally regained control the audience was in shock. How could this happen, how could they have been taken for such a ride. They’d fallen for the puppet master’s game.
As the stage cleared and the lights went down an angry voice echoed through out the theatre
Put your hand right up my shirt,
Pull the strings that make me work,
Jaws will part, words fall out,
like a fish with hook in mouth.
I am not a fish
I am a man
With hook in mouth!
The above is nothing more than a short piece of, probably badly written, dribble based loosely around the song Hook In Mouth written by Dave Mustaine and David Ellefson of Megadeth adapted for the prompt because of the line ‘like a fish with hook in mouth’ which came to mind when I saw the prompt. The song was originally a political statement mainly against Tipper Gore and her PMRC that tried to ruin music in the 80’s but I figured with the amount of political BS around these days it was time for a change.