Theres a goblin in the garden
and he’s telling me his tale.
A life thats full of misery,
an existance that went stale.

His story starts some time ago
in a land of red and grey.
Where goblins grew aplenty,
before they went away.

He once knew love and happiness.
This goblin tells me true.
Until they had that accident
with the strong, fast setting glue.

He says that he did everything
to stop it setting so quick
but what he really didn’t know
Was that it bonds with blue lipstick.

Theres a goblin in the garden
Taking roost upon a chair.
His face is wraught with anguish
And he’s pulling out his hair.

I’ve tried my best to appease him
I’ve done all that I can do.
But he’s adamant about staying
And living in my loo.

His story wends its windy way
Around river, hill and vale
Where armies fought and conquered
The heart of summer-dale.

He’d travelled with a pixie
A fair old distance, too.
Until she upped and left him
Tied to an old world yew.

Theres a goblin in the garden
And it really isn’t fair
That I should have to suffer
That goblins piercing stare.

He tells me about his childhood
Spent in fields of green and brown
And all the time he’s talking
His face, it seems quite down.

I ask him `whats the matter’.
I’m expecting a tall tale.
But all I’ve got is sadness
And a long, heart-wrenching wail.


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