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.

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