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Sugartown has turned so sour |
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Its people angry in their sleep |
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There's more small-town paranoia |
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Sweeping down its evil sheets |
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You better give me the chance |
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I'll cut you down with a glance |
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Yeh, with my small axe - so help me |
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And tho' I'm only one |
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And tho' weak I'm strong |
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And if it comes to the crunch |
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Then I'm the woodcutter's son |
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And I'm cutting down the wood for the good of everyone! |
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You can tell it's witching hour |
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You can feel the spirits rise |
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When the room goes very quiet |
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And there's hatred in your eyes |
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You better give me the chance |
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I'll cut you down with a glance |
|
Yeh, with my small axe - so help me |
|
And tho' I'm only one |
|
And tho' weak I'm strong |
|
And if it comes to the crunch |
|
Then I'm the woodcutter's son |
|
And I'm cutting down the wood for the good of everyone! |
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There's a silence when I enter |
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And a murmur when I leave |
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I can see their jealous faces |
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I can feel the ice they breathe |
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You better give me the chance |
|
I'll cut you down with a glance |
|
Yeh, with my small axe - so help me |
|
And tho' I'm only one |
|
And tho' weak I'm strong |
|
And if it comes to the crunch |
|
Then I'm the woodcutter's son |
