I'm the toy of a twisted reality, a possession to idle cruelty, what will I have, is a passing dream.
I'm wound up, and let walk on my own, but the energy fades, and I stand still.
But never get to rest, just wound again, and again, forced down short paths.
There's some game to play, but the rules are unknown, if I get ahead, I'm placed at the back.
And if I find rest, my legs keep walking, going nowhere, until the power drains.
Monotonous and slow, I could change, but my parts grow old, and the scene persists.
New toys come with bright colour, a fuller charge, it could make me smile, but my power has drained.
Wind me up, to see what I can't have, Wind me up, to stumble and fall.
I'm the toy of a twisted reality, a possession to cruelty, what will I have, finds only sorrow.