Rags make riches
From the stitches
But he's not alive, it shows
Trembling in the ill wind
Buttons for eyes
Hands done in ties
Patchy hessian-skinned
As the crow flies
Away from him
Grease painted clown face
Smiling in vain
All without a name
Withdraw the human race
It's rather a shame
Even the birds can't stand his face
Scarecrow in the background
Plays the bitter anti-hero
Is that weeping that we hear? No!
Give it time, stick around
Watch him spring out of the ground
He'll dance for us, put on a show
Our lonely friend, the sad scarecrow
Our lonely little scarecrow
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