On strings, on strings,
your biting voice still rings.
How could you? Why would you?
Each echoed word still stings.

On strings, on strings.
I'm limply tugged through rings.
Each action, reaction,
made by what the wire brings.

On strings, on strings.
The strand, it sings
of better times, of better lines;
hooked along my soul, it clings.

On strings, on strings,
despite the arrows and the slings,
still I'm dragged until I'm ragged.
Blood and tears and fallacies.

On strings, on strings.
To hell they'll pull with blackened wings
while they burn in martyrs scorn
to damn my life in depth of sins.

On strings, on strings.
A web of tangles, I claw at these.
A futile effort, a fatal effect.
I free myself and fall lifeless.