My feet, it appears, can step nowhere wrong.
Something is guiding my actions.
Floating on destiny’s tide, I ride,
driven by winds I can’t feel or hear.
Fate pulls my strings like a wry puppeteer,
making me dance a cute jig.
The marionette must convey what I feel,
for whatever I, the puppet, desire,
appears on the stage,
a wonder itself.
All things come to those who wait,
or those who see fit to give in,
letting What lies without lie within,
putting the strings in Its hands.