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They had squandered by the old fir tree
To tell tails of which they had no clue
They remembered the stories of old folklore
The tale of the Tomb.
Out in the barnyard, one mild winters noon
We washed in the wind; as master lay
Laughing aside the young mans arm
Telling him of the loom.
Boy ran, and tried to hide upon the shed
But the unwanted son dragged by his head.
The daffodils blew up in the wind,
To see what was to happen soon
The small daisies had told it from there
How the boy had been dragged by his hair
And to the lakeside he had been made bare, almost.
The boy refused to drown.
Infuriated, master took him to the kitchen
To botch, to finish, to feed the kittens
But the knife were plastic, and bent like elastic
He tried to use a spoon.
With no avail we watched the daffodil seeds return
To let them tell what they had learned
They told of the boy’s competence to strive
And rumours of strangers being buried alive.
To tell tails of which they had no clue
They remembered the stories of old folklore
The tale of the Tomb.
Out in the barnyard, one mild winters noon
We washed in the wind; as master lay
Laughing aside the young mans arm
Telling him of the loom.
Boy ran, and tried to hide upon the shed
But the unwanted son dragged by his head.
The daffodils blew up in the wind,
To see what was to happen soon
The small daisies had told it from there
How the boy had been dragged by his hair
And to the lakeside he had been made bare, almost.
The boy refused to drown.
Infuriated, master took him to the kitchen
To botch, to finish, to feed the kittens
But the knife were plastic, and bent like elastic
He tried to use a spoon.
With no avail we watched the daffodil seeds return
To let them tell what they had learned
They told of the boy’s competence to strive
And rumours of strangers being buried alive.
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They had squandered by the old fir tree
To tell tails of which they had no clue
They remembered the stories of old folklore
The tale of the Tomb.
Out in the barnyard, one mild winters noon
We washed in the wind; as master lay
Laughing aside the young mans arm
Telling him of the loom.
Boy ran, and tried to hide upon the shed
But the unwanted son dragged by his head.
The daffodils blew up in the wind,
To see what was to happen soon
The small daisies had told it from there
How the boy had been dragged by his hair
And to the lakeside he had been made bare, almost.
The boy refused to drown.
Infuriated, master took him to the kitchen
To botch, to finish, to feed the kittens
But the knife were plastic, and bent like elastic
He tried to use a spoon.
With no avail we watched the daffodil seeds return
To let them tell what they had learned
They told of the boy’s competence to strive
And rumours of strangers being buried alive.
To tell tails of which they had no clue
They remembered the stories of old folklore
The tale of the Tomb.
Out in the barnyard, one mild winters noon
We washed in the wind; as master lay
Laughing aside the young mans arm
Telling him of the loom.
Boy ran, and tried to hide upon the shed
But the unwanted son dragged by his head.
The daffodils blew up in the wind,
To see what was to happen soon
The small daisies had told it from there
How the boy had been dragged by his hair
And to the lakeside he had been made bare, almost.
The boy refused to drown.
Infuriated, master took him to the kitchen
To botch, to finish, to feed the kittens
But the knife were plastic, and bent like elastic
He tried to use a spoon.
With no avail we watched the daffodil seeds return
To let them tell what they had learned
They told of the boy’s competence to strive
And rumours of strangers being buried alive.