Bow

I once fired arrows, with Giallo anonymity

You could barely limit me or my endless possibilities

But that very same liberty, has strangled that infinity

Figure eight hands have bereft me of will, you see

Romance has a deathbed and lust has its motives

I've always pulled those puppet strings, overhead

Sacrifice won't suffice, I care not if that goat is dead

For your meridian, you simians you owe a debt