Testo The Puppet Master

Behind a yellow lit window at the back of the square, A wizened old man with ashen grey hair, His grandfather clock strikes the hour of twelve, The puppets are hanging from hooks on the shelf, The Burgemeister is staggering home, The Child-catcher, he walks on alone. A hoary wretch with murderous intent, Who glanced over his shoulder where'er he went, Is taking a knife from a sawdust filled drawer, Then he walks down the hall to the twisted wood door. But while he is upstairs there is movement below, The patter ottiny feet, louder it grows, They're climbing the stairs with painted fixed grins, Axes in hands, arms on jointed crude pins. Next morning the puppets are back on their shelves, And they find the old man who kept to himself, But a new puppet hangs inthe bay window now, Its garish red face stares at the wires from its brow.