In my mind I saw the puppet master
pull his strings upon a stage.
From the dark shadows, came
the children of the streets.
With dull eyes, old and weary faces,
They wander into all sorts of places,
depressed, worn down, by drugs
and other things.
With a gentle tug upon the strings,
two were broken, on the stage.
One was fourteen year old Tim's,
the other Jenny Lyn's.
She was thirteen, poorly dressed,
wore high healed shoes, pasty face
covered in rouge. She walks the streets.
Poor Tim in pain, from drugs he had
taken. Knows his days are ending.
In his dismay, wished he could view,
the side of life that others know.
Late in the night, the puppet master,
heard the last curtain call.
Crying out, "We lost two poor wretched
lives tonight. Tim and Jenny Lyn's."
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