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 lifes. Standing so near. To innocent eyes. Poor dunce. Swings thru the tunnels. And claws his way. Is small life so manic. Are these really the days. Poor dunce. Poor dunce. Poor soul. Spit on that. Poor soul. He never knew what hit him. And it him so. He pushed back the pigmen. Poor soul. Poor soul. Poor soul.