A Small Plot of Land Testo

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

Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The Barbs laughed
The fool is dead Poor dunce
He's less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer can't travel
So far
These days

The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings through the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce

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

People spat upon him
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul