Iron Garden Gnome

In the darkest garden corner
Sits an iron garden gnome
With his bloody pitchfork
There he calls his home

Don't take your eyes
Off this garden gnome
He's hungry for your flesh
He'll cut you to the bone

He used to be a happy gnome
What made him go bad?
His fall from victory garden grace
Made all the town folk sad

Some say it was a girl
Some say it was the booze
The real reason for his deep down fall
Someone stole his shoes!

Ah yes, the lazy, hazy, gothic days of summer. . . . . (whistle when you walk past the garden . . . )

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