They're still out here
Amongst the trees.
They're still out here
Amongst the trees.
Don't let them see you.
Don't let them see you.
The fog rolls in,
And the temperature drops about thirty degrees.
Two hundred years have disappeared
And yet the pipe smoke lingers.
The fog creeps in,
And the temperature drops about thirty degrees.
Two hundred years have disappeared
And yet the pipe smoke lingers here.
For if you make a sound
Or you turn around
They will be gone,
They will be gone.
And if you choose to run,
You'll see the blinking eyes
And know your time has come.
You might be wrong.
Don't let them see you.
A splash of gin
To let you know that they are near.
Two hundred years have disappeared
And yet the pipe smoke lingers.
A punch in the gut
If their intentions have not been made clear.
Two hundred years have disappeared
And yet the pipe smoke lingers here.
Don't let them see you.
For if you make a sound
Or you turn around
They will be gone,
They will be gone.
And if you choose to run,
You'll see the blinking eyes
And know your time has come.
You might be wrong.
For if you make a sound
Or you turn around
They will be gone,
They will be gone.
And if you choose to run,
You'll see the blinking eyes
And know your time has come.
You might be wrong.
Don't ever let them see you.
Don't ever let them see you.
You might be wrong,
You might be crazy.
They're still out here
Amongst the trees.
They're still out here
Amongst the trees.
Don't let them see you.
Don't let them see you.
Don't let them see you.
