Sugartown has turned so sour

its people angry in their sleep

There's more small-town paranoia

Sweeping down its evil sheets -

You can tell it's witching hour

You can feel the spirits rise

When the room goes very quiet

And there's hatred in their eyes -



You better give me the chance

I'll cut you down with a glance

Yeh, with my small axe - so help me,

And tho' I'm only one

And tho' weak I'm strong

And if it comes to the crunch

      Then I'm the woodcutter's son



And I'm cutting down the wood for the 

      good of everyone!



There's a silence when I enter

And a murmur when I leave

I can see their jealous faces

I can feel the ice they breathe