There’s a man at the end of our road,
He wanders up and down,
He walks the town by day and night
And carries bags that look quite light,
I don’t know why.
Of course, he’s different,
And that makes people shy.
They call him ‘the bagman’,
Those who think they think
Call him ‘idle’, or ‘good for nothing’.
A vagabond. A sponger. A wastrel.
But those who think they think,
They don’t know
That he alone can see the Goblins.
It is he alone that chase them away.
It is he alone that fill in the cracks
On the pavement with his aura,
To keep the children safe.
It is he alone
Who keeps the demons in his head
Away from you and I.