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.