When we're working nights, the village round the old church becomes scary town. All curtained windows and bolted doors but never a eye to see as us fairy folks sweep from the hill Never caught us and never will. Pulling roses and daffodils --- mayhem in the high degree.
The blacksmith chased us all to ground. They searched all night --- we were never found. The tinker boys and the sheriff's men shaking the tallest tree. And we sat and watched the women hide. Laughed so much we split our sides. Scattered horses that they would ride --- mayhem in the high degree.
We crossed through fields of midnight green often heard but seldom seen. Tore along hedges, stripping leaves --- no-one could quite agree whether we came from north or south. We stole the screams from out their mouths and go where no man would allow mayhem in the high degree.
Like scaly carp and feathered swan to nature's world we do belong. We ride the thin winds of the night and set dark spirits free. We terrify the mare and foal. The fox stood still and far too bold. So we strung him up, brush neatly folded --- mayhem, maybe.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
