well i chased her for too long it seems, she always stayed just a few steps away, she was never going to let me catch her i saw, had a new excuse for the game she loves to play

she was never going to let me catch her, it was all about loving the feel of the chase, she always had some reason or set of rules, then she’d dangle that sweet carrot in my face

now she’s got a case of the feels bad for herself, i think i’ll call it the puppeteer blues, she prefers to pretend to be the one who was done bad, even if she has to make up the news

i realized the game she was playing with me, went home and i locked all the doors, and when she saw i had given up chasing her, she came bounding back to me on all fours

now i hear that sad song a playing, if i cock my head up to the breeze, i hear that familiar voice out there wailing, a fresh take on a symphony of woe is me’s

she’s got herself a case of the puppeteer blues, wants everyone to feel so bad for her, oh now she’s got herself a case of those look at me blues, as she begins to see it was her fault for sure

let that tender breeze blow through you, of your mixed signals of hurry up and wait, how that breeze it flows right through the screen, whispering of how you waited until it was too late

and sing your proud puppeteer blues out loud, blame it all on a myriad of things, just wail out the blues to the uncaring world, because that damned puppet cut his own strings

she saw things moving in the darkness outside, jumped at shadows that were never there, then she played the martyr and ended it all, one last game of being the victim to share

all of this could have been avoided, if she could have just been honest and frank, but instead she kept strumming her guitar, as they were the only strings she still had to yank

how she claimed she was never playing, but it was just a facet of the game, as she stalked anyone who said nice things, then ran to hide her face in shame

she thought that she was geppeto, and i was her puppet to make dance, now she sings the puppeteer blues all night, in the hopes she gets a second chance

will she ever see the ways she was wrong, as she burned all the bridges leading to me, or will she continue to act like she was the one was wronged, and deny her own acts of lone carpentry

oh she’s got them puppeteering blues, claiming that she sees she has now lost me, and she sings to anyone who’ll listen to her song, just another victim of her own jealousy

yes i’m afraid it’s a case of the puppeteer blues, just another sad song that she sings, because she handed the puppet the pair of scissors, and then cried when he cut his own strings

now i hope that we can remain friends, because our time together was special to me, but know i’ll no longer play your puppet, to be strung along on your whims endlessly

that is no life to live in servitude, given glimpses of what could never be, what kind of life being manipulated by words, we both deserve better can’t you see

so strum the guitar on your porch at night, sing away all the self imposed pain, and maybe one day you will see clearly, and never sing the puppeteer blues again

oh she’s got a case of the puppeteer blues, as anguish fills her sweet heart, pining away over a love she thinks lost, but it was a love that she never let start