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!