Letras de A Small Plot of Land

Poor soul
Spit upon that poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so

Poor dunce
He pushed at the pigman
The bones left
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
He′s less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead

And Fredman
Travels afar these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes

Poor dunce
Swings through the tunnels
And claws his way
His small life so manic
Are these really the days?
Poor dunce
Poor dunce