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’,

Or ‘tramp’.

Those who think they think

Call him ‘idle’, or ‘good for nothing’.

A vagabond. A sponger. A wastrel.

But those who think they think,

Don’t know!

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.