A Small Plot of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
He's less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer can't travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings through the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic?
Are these really the days?
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
