To you the Puppetmaster

This is to the cunning puppet master,

Who does his work smarter, not faster,

Who shapes each creation with a skilled hand,

Never once revealing his master plan,

This is to him, the dealer of fates,

Who plays on his time, with no pressing dates,

A twitch of his finger, and you're caught in his lies,

In a great game, he can only dream to despise,

He is forever the corroder of souls,

The worst evil that has lived, between the poles,

The writer of stories, who gives you life's throws,

Stuck evermore, the spawn-er of woes.