An old toymaker, made his puppets, pieced together from old wooden parts. He carved their faces, full of fear, failing to feel how others feel. He used a sharp blade…shimmering…bright and blinding in the lamps and candle light. He wound and bound their legs and arms without a sound. Some had suits, but most had hoods…Covering their face as a hood should. At night the man would rest, leaving open the puppet chest. At night... At night.... At night... They pushed up the lid…climbed out the top...silent as they did… the dancing dead men, the dancing dead men. They swept through the streets, and through the homes…creeping and roaming. Searching for their youth, and their grave...another child to take their place. Hiding in the shades, and the in trees, some in groups and some alone. They climbed on the roofs, and down chimneys…Some dug in the dirt, under the homes... And under the bed, of little girls and boys, sleeping with their toys, soon they’ll be… youtube/watch?v=dTfG6Bcj6oQ
Posted on: Thu, 30 Oct 2014 10:44:21 +0000
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