The Dummy

In that forgotten part of townWhere wasted hopes and dreams abound,A wrinkled man with life near end,In hopes to have at least one friend,Fashioned bits of wood and thingsAnd made a dummy run by strings.He sat alone for hours on end,Conversing with his only friendAnd found delight within the factThat he controlled it's every act.He told it how he never hadA chance, since all his luck was badAlthough he'd tried so to succeed -The dummy nodded and agreed.And how his journeys in romanceHad never given him a chance,And wasn't it a crying shameThat he was always held to blameWhen everyone knew, oh so well,That life is but a living Hell,Controlled by lust and power and greed?The dummy nodded and agreed.With patience that would rival saints,That dummy sat through all complaintsAnd, with each little expert tug,He'd droop his head or bow or shrugAnd give some comfort to the manWho held his lifelines in his handAnd helped to fill a lonely needWhen he just nodded and agreed.Senility increased with timeAs did the old man's phantomime,And feverish fingers pulled with gleeThe dummy's dance of misery.They never left each other's sideUntil the day both stopped and died.We found them lying, hand in hand,The dummy - and his wooden friend.