You're my falling star in the wake of morning
I watch as you disappear behind a crimson curtain

My life, or what is left of it is simply a meer stage
Weeping roses left lying upon the floor, fading and grey
No one to pick them up, they just wither away
Like a story with no ending; an empty page
Left to write in about a marionette whose mask can't cover the hurtting
But if left crestfallen' lying on the stage floor mourning

"Encore! Encore!" a restless crowd cries
Rows of empty seats... save one
"I thought you left, the play is finished"
You place your hand on my cheek, I touch your hand in fear you might diminish
You smile softly, "Life goes on, don't say you are done."
A white rose in his hand, he wipes the tears away from my eyes.

"Encore, my lovely marionette," he whispered "Good show"
"There's more to this play,
Then even the writer will ever know"