My life is not my own. It seems
a puppetmaster pulls the strings,
diverts my path and steals my dreams
where I would fly on angel's wings.

A puppetmaster pulls the strings
with careless hands. A web he spins
where I would fly. On angel's wings
I soar no more, trapped by my sins.

With careless hands a web he spins,
a silken snare for foolish prey.
I soar no more. Trapped by my sins,
I rue the deeds of yesterday.

A silken snare for foolish prey
diverts my path and steals my dreams.
I rue the deeds of yesterday -
my life is not my own it seems.