No Strings Attached - Skyclad

Now the final curtain’s fallen for no show goes on forever

If the world’s a stage, mine’s empty whilst upon it you’ll tread never

As the instruments lie silent in their coffins made of wood

I rest assured they’d say these words if say these words they could:

«Whatever happened to the songs

The music that we made

And the joy we shared together

As on me your fingers played?

Are chose symphonies forgotten

With our cases closed and latched?

Dreams now dusty, old and rotten

Empty shells, no strings attached»

Amidst the dying candle-light I sit forlorn, alone

A space once filled with laughter bright, the place my heart called home

Now the puppets are my company but wood and straw can’t speak

Though if by chance they came to life I’m certain they would weep:

«What am I without your tender touch

The hands to hold and guide me

What purpose has a puppet

With no puppeteer beside me?

I do not care, I have no hair

My painted face is scratched

But fear my wooden heart will shatter

With no stings attached»

No mourners assemble

In this white elephant’s graveyard

A dearth of bloom upon my tomb

An absence of forget-me-nots

For Romeo I understudied

This sepulchre dank and bloodied

It’s my final resting place

Amongst these «cloak-and-dagger» props

Your kiss turns princes into frogs

And passion-plays to monologues

Now last and least the minstrel takes his bow upon the stage

He’s played a fool and played the prince but never acts his age

And if for once not lost for words I wonder what he’d say

To win fair maiden, slay the dragon, keep dread foe at bay?

«Though I am not a wealthy man

My heart is pure and true

And the only riches that I have

The love I feel for you

Now my life is robbed of meaning

Like a purse of hope that’s snatched

Must I spend my whole time dreaming

Living life no strings attached?»

No mourners assemble

In this white elephant’s graveyard

A dearth of bloom upon my tomb

An absence of forget-me-nots

For Romeo I understudied

This sepulchre dank and bloodied

It’s my final resting place

Amongst these «cloak-and-dagger» props

Your kiss turns princes into frogs

And passion-plays to monologues