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This is a story about three little piggies---Three little piggies who never went to market, especially on a Friday afternoon, when they stayed at home and let other people bring home the bacon. And they still do. But the rashers get thinner and thinner, and life's knives get sharper and sharper. |
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This milchcow has given its last pound of flesh |
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Their coffers, once full, will be emptiness |
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A curse for a night time; a curse for a lifetime |
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Three months have gone, and six months are due-time |
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Threatening squeals; it's shut up and pay time |
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For three little piggies, wither and decay time |
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Happy greet, happy meet, but better happy-due-goodbye-time |
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The three months have gone, it's six months to pay time |
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As we have seen, the guilty have no pride |
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But their lies do lead to their own suicide |
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This milchcow has given its last pound of flesh |
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Young coffins will fill their hearts' emptiness |
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Now you have seen, I can't help but grin |
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My angels are coming from deep within |
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Now you have heard, I can't help but grin |
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My demons are coming from deep within |
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(Die piggie, die |
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Bye bye) |
