There's a grove of trees inside the mind Where children play Who've lost their way. As they succumb to nightmare dreams, Fill the air with silent scream. A land alive where blood runs cold As they are brought into the fold. Joining the ranks of Elysium Back to the earth from which they've come. They invent games, playmates from hell They have drawn up from a well They know that they'll never go Back to a place adults call home. Their ghouls and ghosts inhabit dolls And place strange sounds inside the walls. Make the space 'neath cobwebbed beds The resting place for the undead.
They shriek and moan and burn and slash And creak and boo and wail and gnash, Place fears thoughts inside your head And make you wish you'd end up dead. You just might, and so beware Of that grey shroud that climbs the stairs. You're the thing on which it feeds To fill its maw and sate its needs. For as it grinds your bones to meal And turns your skull beneath the wheel, Six feet down is where you'll lay As the children laugh, the children play. The children laugh and children play. Children laugh and children play!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
