The smell of the sick
A nauseating splatter
It scrapes it cracks and clatters
An empty silver platter!

Its mottled and its tabby
I don't know who to blame
A logical pink gizmo
Spitting out soft noises

Its a magician of sort
Conjures up the next world
People on pedestals
Are taking turns to be God
Taking turns to be God

There's alternating stitches running through my head
Oh, no!

It can run but it can't hide
No point picking up the pace
My legs are kind of weak
But I will catch you soon!

Setting up a trap or two
For that sapid gingerbread man
It can run but it can't hide
Yes it will crumble soon
And by then I'll be sane

A ruse a sham a trick a trap
The gingerbread man's last stop
It scrapes it cracks it clicks it clacks
The empty silver platter

Its raw its sweet its sour spit
The gingerbread man's luscious taste
The jelly chunks and slags of meat
The scent attracts the rats and worms

And I'm a magician of sort
I conjure up the next world
People on pedestals
Are taking turns to be God
Taking turns to be God

Bloody hell

It can run but it can't hide
No point picking up the pace
My legs are kind of weak
But I will catch you soon!

Setting up a trap or two
For that sapid gingerbread man
It can run but it can't hide
Yes it will crumble soon
And by then I'll be sane