The Ministry Of Wolves - Rumpelstiltskin | Текст песни

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• The Ministry Of Wolves
• Rumpelstiltskin

Inside many of us
is a small old man
who wants to get out.
No bigger than a two-year-old
whom you'd call lamb chop
yet this one is old and malformed.
His head is okay but not the rest.
He is a monster of despair.
He is all decay.
He speaks up as tiny as an earphone with an asexual voice:
I am your dwarf.
I am the enemy within.
I am the boss of your dreams.
No. I am not the law in your mind, the grandfather of watchfulness.
I am the law of your members,
the kindred of blackness and impulse.
See.
Your hand shakes.
It is not palsy or booze.
It is your Doppelgänger
trying to get out.
Beware . . . Beware . . .
I am a dwarf.
I have been exhibited on Coney
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I have no private life.
If I'm in my cups
the whole town knows by breakfast
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I am eighteen inches high.
I am no bigger than a partridge.
I am your evil eye
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I will give you
three days to guess my name
and if you cannot do it
I will collect your child.
The Devil told you that! He stamped his right foot into the ground and sank in up to his waist.
Then he tore himself in two.
Somewhat like a split broiler.
He laid his two sides down on the floor,
one part soft as a woman,
one part a barbed hook,
one part Papa,
one part Doppelgänger.