| When we’re working nights, the village 'round
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| The old church becomes scary town
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| All curtained windows and bolted doors
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| But never an eye to see
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| As us fairy folks sweep from the hill
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| Never caught us and never will
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| Pulling roses and daffodil
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| Mayhem in the high degree
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| The blacksmith chased us all to ground
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| They searched all night, we were never found
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| The tinker boys and the sheriff’s men
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| Shaking the tallest tree
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| And we sat and watched the women hide
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| Laughed so much we split our sides
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| Scattered horses that they would ride
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| Mayhem in the high degree
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| We crossed through fields of midnight green
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| Often heard but seldom seen
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| Tore along hedges, stripping leaves
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| No one could quite agree
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| Whether we came from north or south
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| We stole the screams from out their mouths
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| And go where no man would allow
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| Mayhem in the high degree
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| Like scaly carp and feathered swan
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| To nature’s world we do belong
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| We ride the thin winds of the night
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| And set dark spirits free
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| We terrify the mare and foal
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| The fox stood still and far too bold
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| So we strung him up, brush neatly folded
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| Mayhem, maybe |