Mad O hatter,
Have you heard of this old Wacker?
In awe he cottered and crackled,
Wth his crimson soaked hand shackled.
Slaughters and murder was not his doings,
Relieving tears was but he was going;
Cradling toddlers and pleasuring souls,
An Imprisonment with no parole.
Lads and lassies with eyes that's gleaming,
Peel your eyes for what that's coming;
For all you'll see will be when you're fleeing.
Following
