Bedtime Stories - The Burning Hell

in every folk tale, in every book,

there is a hero or a heroine

and there is a witch or a troll or a crook

or an evil stepmother or just a general villain

and i remember reading when i was young

and i always felt sorry for the bad ones and the tricksters

i never identified with the little lost kids

but maybe that’s ‘cause i didn’t have brothers or sisters

and so when the witch died i cried

‘cause i didn’t want them to hurt her —

likewise when the troll got tricked and when the dragon got killed

and i hated the part when the wolf got ax-murdered,

and the moral of the story always left me unfulfilled

and i was not a sociopath,

i was a six-year-old

who could tell the difference between good and bad

a little boy with built in ethics who didn’t need to be told

that it was wrong to be mean to your mom or to lie to your dad

but i knew if i had to choose sides

i’d probably pick the empire;

i hated ewoks and i loved the death star.

and i never felt sorry for the last unicorn

i always thought that song needed a lot more guitar

and i did not grow up to be a serial killer,

though there are a few people on my list

and whenever i see a child reading a book about a boy-wizard

i find myself grinding my teeth and clenching my fists

and i want to say ‘hey kid here’s a bedtime story for you:

the wicked witch wins and the orphans lose.

they did everything right and now they’re orphan fondue

and the moral of the story is you don’t always get to choose

‘hey kid here’s a bedtime story for you:

the wicked witch wins and the orphans lose.

they did everything right and now they’re orphan fondue

and the moral of the story is you don’t always get to choose