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Woman in the Woods

The woman in the woods, we’re convinced she’s a witch,

Lives in a hut daubed in tar, bleached bones and black pitch

Her clothing without doubt is well, a little bit strange,

As it seems she never ever… ever wants to change.

She has a long black robe, a pointed midnight hat

And draped round her neck is a flea peppered cat.

There are three fat wart’s living right on her nose,

And through mud concealed boots poke out scaly green toes.

She has fingers like twigs from a haunted tree

And her breath smells like phew, years old celery

As for the food she eats, well this is where it gets worse

She munches and crunches course by course

Starting out with crane flies in a maggoty broth,

That she digests with glee, and then she will scoff

Black rat en croute, a well-known witch delicacy

That scuttles, and scampers about in her belly

She then has twenty fat termites on caterpillar mash

Followed by fermented slug and sea snail goulash

You’d think by this time her gut would be grumbling

But no, she still has room for her favourite pudding

She’ll make millipede custard, and then what she’ll do

Is put it in a pitcher and serve – it – with - YOU!

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Taken from 'The Truth' a theatrical performance on the aftermath of the Hillsborough Stadium Disaster in 1989.