Once upon a weary time
In a land, not far away
Lived a little grey-green man
Who was made from some brown clay.

He sat upon a hollow log
And smoked a tin lid pipe,
And each time that he sang his song
It gave me a real fright.

His voice was hard like iron
His words like steal and lead;
His face it was appalling
And filled me up with dread.

His ears were sharp, like bayonets
His eyes were cold like ice
And gathered all around his feet
Was a number of white mice

Across a deep blue river wide,
There up in a tree
Lived a small pink fairy lass
Who danced round with glee.

With eyes that glowed like diamonds
That twinkle in the night,
Her hair it glimmered silver
In the pale blue moonlight.

Her name it was Rowenda,
the strangest name of course,
Given by her mother, whose
The son of mare and horse.

But looks, they are deceiving.
This fairy will, I fear
Carve your eyeballs out your head
And will not shed a tear.

For there found hanging from her belt
Is a huge sharp bowie knife.
Which she’ll plunge into your barren chest
And cause all kinds of strife

The little green-grey horrid man
Still sits on his log.
He chugs upon his tin lid pipe
And still he sings his song.

The words they are atrocious.
They will drive you right insane
So listen not I beg you,
Lest they rattle round your brain!

Across the deep blue river wide
She’s hearing now that noise
And screams out in a fury
As the blood curls up her toes.

Her eyes they flash with menace,
The starlight now is gone
Her heart does drum and pound out loud
“To death he does belong”

She sings out like a harpy bird
Whilst preparing for the war
She will wage on the noise that penetrates
Her deep blood red front door.

Rowenda she is livid,
Her glee now is long gone.
Replaced with a mean vengeance
To be wrent upon that song.

She’s swapping out her fairy wings
For ones now made from fire
Its really not that hard to do,
For they’re tied on tight with wire.

Rowenda puts her chain mail on
and sharpens up her knife
Then locks up her house real tight
She’s ready for some strife.

“Don’t go out to the forest love.”
Her wife she cries in vain,
“Its only that Inferno dear
And he’s knowing now your name”

For there in lies the danger
In that green mans favorite song
Its why you shouldn’t ever,
Ever listen for too long.

For if there is the offchance
He should utter out your name
The chance of you surviving
Are at this point really lame

But Rowenda, she hears nothing
Of her wife’s outcry to stop.
Her blood it now is boiling
at the point at which it’ll clot.

She flies out o’er the river blue
Directly at the noise
Coming from that glen below
Which is filling up with boys.

They have gathered there to answer
What the little man requires
Knowing not the nature of
His terrible desires.

He is asking for their blood and guts.
Their flesh stripped free of bone
And if you will not give it him
He’ll turn you into stone.

Its really not at all his fault,
Its nature, (but of course).
For his mother, she is too
the son of mare and horse.

“Inferno, wherefore art thou?”
She calls now out his name.
“Its time to and come dance around.
Its time to feel the pain”.

He took out his mallet true
then turned round like the wind.
But as he rose up off his log,
his feet they did give in

Shes dropping like a leaden stone
From the heavens high above
And shrieking like a banshee
She shredded at his glove

They fought there with a fury
In the battle now commenced
Where he lashed out in anger
And flattened a small fence

“Its time to feel some payback”
You moronic little man”
“To hell with you, you harpy girl”
Then he tripped on a pan

The earth began to tremble
At the fairies mad desire
To be venting out her anger
Spitting venom, blood and fire.

“Come here you now, Rowenda
Your soul it will be mine”.
“Fat Chance there you moronic man”
As she got out the ball of twine

He looked up slightly terrified
At the ball now in her hand
And he took upon his haunch and heel
Across the glade there he did ran.

Screeching with enlightened glee,
at her imminent success
She paused there for a moment
as she caught up on her breath.

Realising she was static
And was not chasing him down
The courage now renewed in him
As he laughed out like a clown.

Right back down the field he ran
Back into the fight again.
To finish off the war at last
And revel in the in the pain.

Rowenda was not through though
The knife yearned for blood
Her eyes retained their glimmer
As she fastened up her hood

She waited as he came to her.
He raced toward at speed
and bending down she tripped him up,
then hacked out at his knee.

The knife it did flash and gleam
As it flew throughout the air
Impaling on his windpipe
The hilt caught up in his hair.

She pulled upon the handle
But the blade it was wedged true
Then tugging that bit harder,
her face it did turn blue.

Finally the knifes sharp blade
Came free from the dead corpse
Of the late Inferno clayman.
The child of mare and horse

Rowenda she was shattered
and she trudged home to bed
But no more will that mean mans song
Fill up her head with dread.

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