Insect Children The The

Little children in the park
Crushing insects for a lark
Babies burning in their beds
Wreaths of fire around their heads

Came out of woodworm in the house see
And made out of something only known to the one
To the two to the three to the four and me

Dancing, dancing, dancing on their graves
Dancing, dancing, dancing on their graves

Little children in the park
Crushing insects for a lark
Babies burning in their beds
Wreaths of fire around their heads

Dancing, dancing, dancing on their graves
Dancing, dancing, dancing on their graves
Dancing, dancing, dancing on their gravеs
Dancing, dancing, dancing on their graves

Come out of thе house like woodworm you’ll see
I’m made out of milk it doesn’t worry me

Babies burning in their beds
Wreaths of fire around their heads