The boy in the tree, he was so nice,
That his fiery stare was cold as ice.
Drop that ice into my lemonade
And you'll taste the drink that Satan made.
And when Satan rears his ugly head,
You'll hear the last prayers of the dead.
And when the dead all start to rise,
You'll see the fire behind their eyes.
And when the fires refuse to burn,
You'll feel them urging, "It's your turn."
And when you finally take the stand,
You'll smell the fear throughout the land.
And when the land begins to shake,
You'll think you're falling in a lake.
And when the lake begins to part,
You'll know you've been dead from the start.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 8:11 PM UTC
The boy in the tree, he was so nice,
That his fiery stare was cold as ice.
Drop that ice into my lemonade
And you'll taste the drink that Satan made.
And when Satan rears his ugly head,
You'll hear the last prayers of the dead.
And when the dead all start to rise,
You'll see the fire behind their eyes.
And when the fires refuse to burn,
You'll feel them urging, "It's your turn."
And when you finally take the stand,
You'll smell the fear throughout the land.
And when the land begins to shake,
You'll think you're falling in a lake.
And when the lake begins to part,
You'll know you've been dead from the start.
Inspired by "The Man Who Lived in Leeds"
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