A name not mine,
A face unlike me.
A picture and profile
Is all that can be seen.

It has no heart,
Its soul is emtpy.
And yet it is part
Of what I pretend to be.

My puppet, my mask,
My ungodly tool.
Oh, the pain that it strikes
Into those who are fooled.

A thousand words it knows
And emotions it can read
Just a single, blackened heart
Is all that it needs.

She thinks its an angel
With open, wide-spread wings.
But so little, does she know:
It is I who pulls the strings.