In the shadow of the past, we stand,
Bounded by chains, not made by own hands,
Generations whisper, in our ears,
Their stories are woven, into our fears.
Chorus:
Puppets in a show, strings you can't see,
snowflakes in the snow, and drops in the sea.
Echoes of old voices, in our mind,
Without choices, the self cannot find.
Verse 2:
Threads of fate guide our steps ahead,
As we dance on the stage where they tread,
We are mere marionettes on display,
We can just go in the same only way