They pulled the stars down one by one. Hauled up the moon to shine upon. A velvet curtain rising. Now her puppet has cut his strings. The footlights glare. The trumpets blare. Why is your face drawn on so glum old chum. Paintbrush dragging on a drum. The rimshot on the punchline that you fumbled. The crowd went home and left you. For dead. My old woodenhead. Took the thimble and the thread. Choked back tears like a cymbal. The breath is slow and shallow too. The sky is bright Venetian blue. The cardboard sun is all ablaze. The air is painted Clifford Brown. Caressing "Yesterdays". The steady gaze of your glass eye. Head in a basket smiling still. Free of will free of wisdom. Can't feel my fingers anymore. Can't raise my hand and ask for more. Dance my doll across the floor. Or fire a flag from a pistol. ("Bang"). They pulled the stars down one by one. Hauled up the moon to wish upon. The puppet finally cut his strings. And free at last from earthly things. He's dancing on the ceiling. With a showgirl in a feather dress. Time is meaningless. We carried you on buckled limbs. Through mournful airs and martyrs hymns. Then one blue and one more yellow pill. One keeps you quiet. One keeps you still. You sang "The Way You Looked Tonight". Your voice is ringing true and clear. Then you wore them down like candlelight. And in the darkness. You'd best beware. And in the darkness. You'd best beware. You'd best beware. You'd best beware. I used to love him. When I used to care. Canopy. Satin trim. Slowly closing. The puppet has cut his strings