So I wrote this a couple of years ago just on a whim whilst listening to Murderdolls. Well, everyone that’s seen it says they like it so what the heck. 

Percivil Rotjaw never
did speak;

And his slow, heavy
walk made the floorboards creek;

He walked along with
his arms stretched out;

And he moaned and he
groaned when there were humans about;

He always did sound
like he was in terrible pain;

And the only thing he’d
eat was freshly picked brain.

Now, one frosty night
he went out on a limb;

He walked but a hunter
was following him;

This gun-wielding man
was a hunter, the best!

And he shot poor
Percivil straight through his chest;

Mr Rotjaw turned and
looked him straight in the eye.

Do you know what
happened? Well, the human did die.

Now, Percivil never
goes out anymore;

But we still hear the
squeak of the boards in the floor;

He still moans and he
groans and brains he still crave;

And in his backyard is
Percy’s old grave.

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