Lithium won’t quite hang you high to dry like the puppet
Abrasively I became betwixt your conniving grip
Maybe my strings are too strung out to even think
Inadequately about swinging me swiftly beyond the thorned vines but
Continuously you pulled and tugged and all I could do was shrug
Tangled and mangled my crown of brier and my psyche became while
All yellow turned to red as the strings began to shred
Lower, lower, into the ground I go.