Paul Weller

Woodcutters Son

Sugartown has turned so sour
its people angry in their sleep
There's more small-town paranoia
Sweeping down its evil sheets -
You can tell it's witching hour
You can feel the spirits rise
When the room goes very quiet
And there's hatred in their eyes -

You better give me the chance
I'll cut you down with a glance
Yeh, with my small axe - so help me,
And tho' I'm only one
And tho' weak I'm strong
And if it comes to the crunch
Then I'm the woodcutter's son

And I'm cutting down the wood for the
good of everyone!

There's a silence when I enter
And a murmur when I leave
I can see their jealous faces
I can feel the ice they breathe