Lyrics No Strings Attached - Skyclad

No Strings Attached

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