We were young and eager
The curious believer
A house full of trees
Green like the peas
So they said

They told us he was a ******
Hanging gnomes from the gutter
So we had to take a look
We were young, who gives a ****
At that age

And there he was climbing up
On a ladder clutching a cup
With a beard all long and grey
Like the clouds on a rainy day
Hanging up his gnomes

By god they were ugly things
What a nightmare always brings
Gnarled faces and twisted cheeks
A horizontal chorus line of freaks
Or were they

Maybe life had given him a kick
Like a mallet hitting a brick
A depression that never ends
Porcelain figures his only friends
But how were we to know

We felt scared and also sad
As we wondered why he was mad
Watching a detachment from the chain
Of the normal working brain
Living alone in the house with gnomes