Bodmin moor, Bodmin moor,
Where strangers come knocking on your door.
This is where he does sleep,
Where birdies fly and foxes leap.
But when I think of Blackoden farm,
There is no such thing as a good luck charm.
For it screams danger to all that’s there,
Especially his children in his lair.
They are called Ryan and Kimberley.
The beast is up there saving these.
They await there in the mist .
Ever afraid of his right hand fist.
Looking for their mother to be their saviour,
Is the main reason that they do stay there.
And worst of all the beast was their father
But it’s okay, the children have there happily ever after.