There was once a man who lived alone ,
he didn't laugh ,
he didn't moan,
the only person that he saw ,
was a young man ,
who brought blackcurrants and jam to his door.
And when he did ,
the lonely man who just loved jam,
stuck his ***** fingers in ,
and licked the jam jar dry ,
which he had shared with his charming little guests .
So he sat down on a stone ,
to play the lute on his own ,
to charm his new friends with their dainty colourful wings
from the skies,
to end up in his fruitfly pies .
So to the forest the young couple did go ,
to hear his sad tale of lament ,
Which they had heard from their mansion
on the hill ,
where blackberries grow ,
and are there to this day even still.
For the trees felt very different
when the lute sings along ,
when the trees and their branches
give out their songs .
For the trees when the different seasons came ,
and went ,
turned to amber ,
and then to red ,
before the winter came .
And so the young lady who made blackberry jam ,
gave it to her lover ,
but he thought it vile ,
and took it far away,
to a door he had never seen before ,
covered in moss and ivy .
And he never said a word ,
and that is why they never ate supper.
And all that was left was blackberry jam in
the form of a man .
And all that was left was a fine sticky mess
after the flies had jam and butter
and had finished their blackberry supper .
So off they all went ,
to the house with a blackberry bush ,
to sell to the lady ,
who.had purple stains on her dress ,
who always tried to look her best ,
who tried not to swallow,
because they said they would be back tomorrow.