by Nick Gisburne
It’s time to kiss your fairy ring goodbye
I’m here to build a barbecue, with bricks
I have a concrete mixer standing by
So don’t get pointy with your little sticks
Your toadstools are a mess, a real disgrace
You’re leaving, so you’d better start to run
Yes, all you fairies floating in my face
Are finished, cancelled, ended, over, done
Will someone tell me why I cannot move
And why I’m slowly sinking in a bog
Whatever else you think that this will prove
You didn’t have to curse me as a frog
I’d like to pay the ransom for release
I promise my construction work will cease
