An ugly man with crooked teeth and eyes as sharp as knives
Goes forth with axe to chop the trees, and end all of their lives
The plants they scream and raise their voice, then calm as he begins
His blade is sharp, they have no choice; their cries are drowned by wind
The air is chilled and so is he, corrupt old crazy loon
He chops them down so eagerly, and night is coming soon
With wood in hand, he leaves this land of life put to its end
And homeward bound, and through a field, the land is wide open
Day almost done, the setting sun is quickly getting gone
And kneeling down, he picks a crown of daises, one by one
And standing up, he gently cups the jewelry in his hand
With tender care that you would not expect of such a man
Into a house with crooked roof, and spaces in the walls
The man sets down his wood and with a sweet accent he calls
And little girl, with golden hair and eyes as sharp as knives
Comes running then, and reaches up, with joy and happy cries
And so the man, the ugly man, with eyes as sharp as knives
Places the crown on his daughter’s head, and kisses her golden eyes.