Scarecrow dancing in the moonlight.


Made of wood and cleaves of hay,
he stands alone whilst birds circle around each day.

On a cross he is tied and bound,
an old hat he wears with holes in, all ***** and brown.

A sack cloth for a jacket, all grey and damp like the ground,
hands made from coat hangers all wiry and pointy like the corn that surrounds.

A head made from an old popped football and scuffed,
the eyes made of coal and a smile painted on like a woman you can't trust.


But deep inside is a magical thing,
that's asleep in the day time but comes alive when the sun goes in.

A man in a tuxedo with a smile so bright,
who sings opera in the moonlight.


A scarecrow no more,
but a magical thing,
that's beautiful, magnificent, he dances and sings,
but no one can ever see him you see,
it's just between him, you and me.