In a wild witchy grove where the wicked things grow

Lay a teeny tiny mouse in his teeny tiny home

It was made out of wicker and woodchips and moss

And he lived with his wife who was really the boss

He peeked out the window to see it was raining

He whispered a prayer that said he needs saving

Little did he know that the fair folk were near

They heard him a -squeaking very loud very clear

The mouse felt his neck suddenly show

Furry wings that lifted where the winds blow

Out the window to go as he pleased

But he had doubts he knew he was cheesed

It wasn’t for him this freedom to grow

He was safe inside why should he go

The fair folk were long gone and who had stayed

But his little wife mouse in the home they had made

So he picked her a berry and brought it back home

To the wild witchy grove where the wicked things grow