Secret Garden

When I was just a boy of ten,

My father took me on a trek

From our house upon the hill

To the valley down below.

He showed me where I need to duck

And army crawl down through the muck

With briar patch above you

Through the muddy soil go:

This path leads to the garden where my father’s corpses grow.

It’s there you’ll find my granny’s head,

And arms and legs of Auntie Jen.

The many planters filled

With bits of people that I know.

Here is the tongue of Mrs. Pluck,

It was that teacher’s rotten luck

To catch dad on a bad day,

So away she had to go.

She’s chopped up in the garden where my father’s corpses grow.

And if you look here to the left

You’ll find the social workers dress

Her body is inside it still,

In soil to her elbows.

And here now are the eyes

Of the neighbor full of lies

Who showed mother our hiding

Place nobody was to know.

Meddlers go into the garden where my father’s corpses grow.

My mother was the first to get

Potted here then came the rest.

He says he never will let

Them take me, for you know:

A boys place is with his father,

See that’s why he had to slaughter,

Those who made attempt to bother,

Or misfortunately wandered,

Just a little bit too close.

These he simply had to kill.

No one can ever save me from

Our haunted house upon the hill.

For if I try to run

He’ll know

And if I try to run

I’ll go

Down in the secret garden

Where my father’s corpses only grow…

in number.

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