Putty

Mold me, Squeeze me,
Shape me, Color me,
I can be anything,
My maker wants me to be
Mold me, Squeeze me, Shape me.

Give me money, take your money,
Healthy body, full of youth,
Painful body, learning now,
Life is not a fatted cow.
Mold me, Squeeze me, Shape me.

I have friends, now have none,
A roof above, tornado’s gone,
An instant change, a moment lost,
A new formed person.
Mold me, Squeeze me, Shape me.

My maker wants to make me now,
For something else,
To fit his need,
And others too, a fright indeed.
Mold me, Squeeze me, Shape me.

He rolls those fingers around my head,
Forming carefully, with love,
A newfound way to look instead.
No longer just a molded toy,
A life, injected, full of joy.

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