Poor little thing,
Tied up with string
But, oh how she longs to dance.
Her heart does ache so
Though no-one could know
If only she could get the chance.

Her face is so sweet
But her small hands and feet
By cold clever fingers are moved.
Her painted on smile
Holds no thought of guile
Just a need to be told she is loved.

Many people today
Live their lives this way
A slave to the string master's will
Escape if you can
Lest some mortal man
Your vital life force may kill.

Then you'll live on a string
And never will sing
The song that is yours alone.
Cut now from his grasp
And, freed from his clasp
Your feet will dance on their own.