Sitting in the wings
As the actors play their roles
The invisible magician
A prompt for wayward souls

He's a watcher, he's as cold as ice
But he was born to pull the strings
The world of puppets dances on his stage
Interpreting the tunes he sings

Yet they still believe they have control
Those true disciples of the night
Lords of their own dominions, masters all
But merely pawns within the fight

Day by day
Micromanaging the strategy
Lost in the detail
The subtle clutches of their vanity

Move their own pieces in the greater game
Manipulate and turn the tide
The shadow watcher sees them all the same
He doesn't even need to hide

Distorts the movement of the butterflies
Precipitates the hurricane
Pulls out the pin and ambles nonchalantly away
He's lost to view again

He shakes the reins
The puppets reel amok
Forks lightning through his veins
And the proxies ground out the shocks