Puppet Master

My movements predestined
And my thoughts are all controlled.
Free me from these strings of limit.
Let loose of the iron-grip hold.
Cut the strings of my fate
So that I may fall from the sky,
Feel the wind through my fashioned hair,
And feel the pressure of my joints as they die.
I don't care if I'm shut
From the rest of the world so dead.
I don't care if I lay here until I rot,
Just as long as I choose what is in my head.
Cut loose my strings
And set my fate free.
Slit my restraints.
Let me be who I want to be.