You were wandering alone
When you smelt her yummy pies.
And then you saw her pumpkin house
Zooming through the skies.
She began to clean the jungle
Where she landed in a glade,
She invited you for tea
So she could show you what she’s made.
Next to her knitting rests a log
Where she takes rats apart.
The tea is boiling water
In which floats a beating heart
Her lamps are made from thigh bones,
Her spectacles from eyes,
And from the warm fat belly-guts
She makes those yummy pies.
She’ll make trolleys from a ribcage,
She’ll make a doily from some skin,
Their spleens are used to salt things with,
Which she enjoys with gin.
Their bums are used for pillows,
Their snouts to button sleeves,
I hope that you enjoy her home,
Because you’ll never leave.