We thought you'd do your part from the very start
and provide for us like a small marketer running his cart.
But no. You couldn't handle the prod, the pinch, the feuding.
You gave in, and now we're gone due to your wretched wife's brooding.
Papa, you promised you'd never give up, yet here you are, on your knees
at the threshold of your door, knuckles bruised and tears hitting the floor.
You failed us, papa, you let her sabotage all we had left to keep
our sweet little suffering and starving but loving family.
So here we are in the dark wandering blindly
our small bread crumb trail in which we placed our faith has been idly ate.
The pines looming, the creatures violently crooning.
We're filled with fear and we walk with haste
wondering what we did to be abandoned if we were nothing but waste.
It's cold out here, papa.
Even colder here alone, but, oh wait, you wouldn't happen to know
as you sit before your fireplace in your little shack,
with your bitter bride now snark and relaxed.
We keep walking in circles, it seems to be starting to snow.
Oh where did you go?
As our feet grow tired and our minds weary, we begin to
find our hope quickly dwindling.
But wait, what is that, in the distance I see?
It's smoke, a chimney!
We've found a house papa, it's as if we're in a dream
it's made of delicious and succulent sweets.
As we indulged, a woman appeared, wrinkled with age
and smirking as she seemed to shake with a silent rage.
Desperate to find shelter, we accepted her invitation in
failing to notice her satire of evil and sin.
She's invited us in, and fed us well.
Then overpowered us and trapped us inside her cold cell.
We tried to escape papa, we really did try, but her extreme
strength was truly a surprise.
We called out for you papa.
We screamed and we cried as the newfound witch raised
and laughed as she told us we would soon meet our firey demise.
She took us by our necks papa, and threw us violently in.
We're trapped in her oven, calling for help, as the witch whistles a tune
and cheers and yelps.
We're scorching in her oven papa, our last breaths are fleeting.
The pain is overbearing, we are being cooked like herring.
Before our hearts stop their beating, and our small hands cease to scratch at the
window of this oven hatch, we have one last parting statement for you to crack.
You were our last hope papa, you were the one we believed we could trust
but your patience bust, and you picked your lust for her over your love for us.
Yes, you felt shame, yet an overwhelming pride for obeying your wife.
You abandoned us papa, and we'd just like you to know
that we will always bring our burned and crippled spirits to haunt your
happy little home.