Am that I be of wood and fur
Of homespun mirth, like gossamer
Atop my shelf I spy at thee
Thy domicile be mine to see
And as thou wend through thy domain
Thy pending doom is laid quite plain
The dancing light thy candle be
Must come to end in misery
Thou fleeting flame! Scion of life!
Dost thou know thy imminent strife?
Wilt thou greet thy twilight onset
With tranquil heart or deep regret?

Sayest thee thy light burns bright?
Thy final end be far from sight?
Alas, my friend of meat and bone
Thou, living clay from silent stone
Forget the curse upon thy hide
Unerring fate the earth decried:
Thy living force instilled by breath
Must be reclaimed upon thy death
For life itself is divine-lent
And be thou Hell or Heaven-bent
Know not I, nor inclined to care
For when thou leave, I'll still be there
For I lack life, and life lack I
Such way be for homunculi

Thou think my lot be sad indeed?
My words a portent of my greed?
Thy counter be utmost absurd
'Tis arrogance in every word
That issues forth from thy own mouth
To accuse me of petty sloth!
For though I sit in utter still
'Tis by my choice and of my will
To watch the world from high afar
Like passing cloud or shining star
The world's not mine, nor am I its
Such way be for soulless spirits

I need no blood to own a heart
Feelings imbued in works of art
Will oft suffice to give it cause;
A play at life borne from applause
'Twas in this way I came to be
Not born to life but parody
By loving hands from timbers sculpt
Delicate paint strokes on wood pulped
A piece of tape to keep secure
My features quaint and face demur
One loved enough to have me made
And deigned to have their work displayed
New hands have claimed me as their own
Thus have I passed through trade and loan
From owner old to owner new
Each one to me their love imbue
Why to be, my raison d'être
Hence claim I to be thou bettre:
Thy life ends when thy heart hath froze;
My play at life with each year grows
Ne'er will I know the death of me
For simulacra, such way be

E'en so, thou say by mine act still
I am a creature with no will?
Mine endless 'life' a happy quirk
From whimsy that in men's heart lurk
Not trustworthy, but oft fickle?
How envy from thy words trickle!
I won't begrudge thy tactless woe
I pity thee, and this although
Thou level insult at my face
My kindness hath met with disgrace
I see, perchance, I've touched a nerve
Perhaps now silence will well serve
To calm thy fears and let thee live
Thy covetous life shall I give
I say to thee: think what thou must
Thy fate be kinder shalt thou trust
Delude thee of thy misery
For mortal life, such way must be

Yet, having claimed thee of envy
I fear the jealous one is me.
For what is life that not be yours?
No matter who all me adores
Ne'er know I the meaning of "me"
For wood and fur, such way must be