Man is merely a marionette
On invisible wires suspended.
And it’s just as well he shouldn’t forget
That Fate the showman is in the wings,
Working the business and pulling the strings
Till his turn is over and ended.
Man is merely a figure on strings,
By the glare of the footlights blinded.
And the wonderful way he dances and sings
Is not unlikely to fill his mind
With a great contempt for the Power behind,
Till suddenly he’s reminded.
Man is the cream of an idle jest,
A smile on the face of sorrow.
A sad peculiar figure at best;
Willing to sacrifice every day,
Breaking his heart in the hope of play
On a problematical morrow.