Hush young one
Censored thoughts,

Keep it astray you must

Else a liar shall be spat upon
A scoundrel buried in dust


Sprint away
Without your whimpering cries,

Back to your solid slum

Your mother will be baking your pies,
Honeysuckle apple and plum


Now if you ever were to tell,
Satan would weep to behave

I'll build a wall for you

Patterned with words
Resting upon your fathers own grave