Follow me follow you look like you’re lost
You can stay at my house, for you it’ll cost
Nothing but trust and perseverance –
Please, don’t judge me on my first appearance,
For my skin may remind you of the mould on a fruit
And have the texture and stiffness of an old leather boot
My hair may look thin and my voice may seem crackly
But follow me follow to my house in Gore Valley.
If you’re someone like me who’s stomach is tough
Then you might not find it gory enough,
For the rain turns to blood before splashing your face
And the leaves are just fingers put in their place,
The flowers are hands spread out like starfish
On my mantelpiece stands my wife’s head in a jar wish
You could see her she just looks dead happy
Except when her skin peels, then she gets snappy.
The people are friendly just like yours truly
Apart from the baker – her name is Julie –
Her bread is baked from the freshly staked
Victims of her traps, her pies have eyes
With lids and lashes, they’re stuffed with scrips and scraps,
With bits and pieces, this and that, whatever she can find.
Her great stone mill is famous here for when it’s used to grind
The corpses, mash them up and turn them into dough,
Her food’s served up with blood ketchup and tastes quite good although
It’s much more of a pleasure to show her your treasure just so she can know
What exactly she’s cooking (just saves her from looking,
And saves you from getting in line for the booking) for your personal meal –
No this isn’t unreal so you need not hide disbelief.
You’re coming with me to be cooked (for a fee) and be ground up into minced beef!
Now give me your hands or I’ll snap them both off and do the same thing to your feet,
You’ll have nowhere to run and nothing to grab – there won’t be a hope of retreat.
Just give up the struggle give up the fight you’re coming like it or not!
I told you to trust me, you silly old fool, I told you I wasn’t do-lally,
But now you are trapped and now you will follow me, follow me down to Gore Valley.