Sugartown has turned so sour
|
its people angry in their sleep
|
There's more small-town paranoia
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Sweeping down its evil sheets -
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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 their eyes -
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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
|
|
And I'm cutting down the wood for the
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good of everyone!
|
|
There's a silence when I enter
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And a murmur when I leave
|
I can see their jealous faces
|
I can feel the ice they breathe
|
|
-----------------
|
Woodcutter's Son
|
| Paul Weller |
