He carved me to be perfect…
and forgot to give me a choice.

Polished wood, a painted smile,
built for grace, to please a while.
My strings hum soft, they sound like lies,
a prayer disguised in lullabies.

I gave my fire, burned for free,
built their dreams, they forgot about me.
Every smile was a borrowed disguise,
I learned to fade where no one cries.

He called me “lover,” carved me clean,
sanded down what should’ve been.
The knife that made me learned to mend,
but I was broken from the end.

They throw words like stones in the rain,
and I just stand here, swallowing pain.
I wear my kindness like broken glass,
cutting deep every time they pass.

The stars don’t guide, they only burn,
each wish a lesson I’ll never learn.
Heaven hums, but won’t forgive,
a puppet’s curse is just to live.

Shadow heart, that’s what I’ve become,
silent drum with a muted hum.
I scream inside but the world won’t start,
so I live my life in a shadow heart.

Strings of sin pull me down,
hollow heart in a ghost to own.
Pinocchia, that’s my name,
a doll who bleeds but feels no shame.

They take my light, they call it theirs,
then walk away like I’m not there.
I give and I give till I disappear,
the echo left is the sound of fear.

Bleed for real, just one time,
love was carved between the lines.
Strings of sin pull me down,
the lie’s the only truth I’ve found.

I’m tired of being their favorite host,
a fading name they forget the most.
I’ll build my home where no eyes see,
alone feels safer, at least it’s me.

The fairy whispered, “Don’t let go,”
but she’s the one who cursed me so.
My father prays with wooden hands,
pretends to mold what he commands.

Shadow heart, I won’t fall apart,
I’m invisible but still have art.
You can’t kill what’s already dark,
I’ll shine alone with my shadow heart.

They said to move is to obey,
but freedom cuts in its own way.
I danced for love, I knelt for sin,
the devil smiled, he let me in.

Maybe I’m better off unseen,
a pixel ghost behind the screen.
If love means bleeding for no return,
then let me hide where shadows learn.

If strings can bleed, then so can art,
and puppets have the softest heart.
Strings of sin pull me down,
hollow soul in a holy town.

I’m the brunt of every blame,
but they never learn my real name.
I’m the face behind the game,
still standing in the rain.

Pinocchia, that’s my name,
a truth they couldn’t reclaim.
Shadow heart, I won’t fall apart,
I’m invisible but still have art.

Bleed for real, just one time,
love was carved between the lines.
Strings of sin pull me down,
I’m free but I’m still bound…

I’m the brunt of every blame,
but they never learn my real name.
I’m the face behind the game,
still standing in the rain…
still standing in the rain…

If being real means being seen,
then maybe the strings were mercy
for a shadow heart and a wooden girl
who learned to burn quietly.