The Old Oak and its Mystic Child (new version)

The old folk of this empty town spoke,
sang songs and told tales
of the ancient oak

One of these tales
they use to tell,
Was of a strange woodland child
named Annabel

She use to sing, spin and dance
Muttering ungodly words to herself
and the old oak
As if in a deranged trance

But truth was, being half
townsfolk and something not half as good
Gave her the power to speak to the living wood

Though a little strange in the head
no one was ever hurt and no harm was ever caused
But still, for whatever she was and
whatever she could possibly do,
The towns people thought best
she be dead

Poor Annabel and her lonely father
woke up with such a fright,
The man looked out his window
saw angry faces and the sharp
glint of pitchforks in the torchlight,
And realised that they were going to
kill his daughter tonight

The poor man and his lovely
little daughter could do nothing
except cry quietly together under the quilt cover
All except, call Annabel's mother

So, muttering a few ancient rhymes
he could barley remember
The towns people instantly began to flee
for her mother was trapped inside the old tree

All that could be heard were screams, shouts,
the tearing of soil and the thunder of
running boots as the oak pulled up her roots

This women, this soul is not one easily angered
Even when she was punished for her love
by being trapped inside a tree
She never once as the desire to flee

But now, with her body as the trunk, her
legs as the twisted roots and her arms as the
solid branches
The imprisoned woodland creature came
to the conclusion that if the whole town
wanted her precious daughter to die
Then the whole town goes byebye

And that was the last story
ever told
Of the little town of Oakenfold