No Strings

We are little wooden things
We're all controlled by hidden strings
When we move our elbows creak
And for a voice we have a squeak
Like leaves upon a tree
We dangle helplessly
If we were stringless we couldn't move at all
But we have a stringless one
A very rare phenomenon
One who's bound to be the rage
The wonder puppet of the age
One puppet who demands
No aid from human hands
May we introduce to you
The Great Pinocchio!