A Synthetic Soul

Little Trolls

There must be bones or gold under my toes.
And it's guarded by little pfukin trolls.
That whisper and whistle from the woods
and see what's going down in the neighborhoods.


And they're busy digging
little holes in the swamp.
Some of them are inside tree stumps.
Believe me I'm telling the truth.


I rarely see them
but they leave me clues,
that've got me reaching
for my crucifix.


And I swear Mr.
It's gonna be a mystery,
When they come looking for your body
out in the swamp.


The swamp is the only place,
where the wind
sings a hymn
that sounds like a gunshot.


And between you and me
there's a sinister sea
of unseen beings,
that can turn nightmares
into day dreams.


Make you question the
bikch asz birds.
Til you don't ask questions.
You just shoot first.


I promise you Mr.
It's gonna be a mystery,
when they come looking for your body
out in the swamp of my back yard.


You'll end up a ghost and you won't
get so far if you go digging around
poking your nose, down in a hole
that was dug by little pfukin trolls.

That whisper and whistle
From the woods.
And see what's going down
in the neighborhood.




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