| Sugartown has turned so sour
|
| Its people angry in their sleep
|
| There’s more small-town paranoia
|
| Sweeping down its evil sheets
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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
|
| And I’m cutting down the wood for the good of everyone!
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| You can tell it’s witching hour
|
| You can feel the spirits rise
|
| When the room goes very quiet
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| And there’s hatred in your eyes
|
| 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
|
| And I’m cutting down the wood for the good of everyone!
|
| There’s a silence when I enter
|
| And a murmur when I leave
|
| I can see their jealous faces
|
| I can feel the ice they breathe
|
| 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 |