Nasty, nasty, gnashing of teeth! Bits of bone and crumbs of stone, and so I hide, a loathsome, loathsome troll.
An angry, angry thing I am, and sure to eat whatever I can. Rue the friend or foe that dares, to cross me, and my loathsome stare!
I know not when I started here, always cold and hungry, an ugly smear, on this fresh and verdant 'scape, I am ugly, full of sins, with nothing to put on the plate.
The church it spits on me, but more because I mock it for what it stands, for what god in pitiless sky, could love a troll like me.
So under bridge, under stone, I make my home, and mash these bones.
I suck the marrow bits dry and pick my teeth, and look for something more to eat.
For feed my soul I must, a shriveled, dessicated husk, unspoilt by the warmth of friendly touch.
I hate and hate but don't know what I hate. Bitterness, dull and cold, lies heavy, blank and unrepentant on my head.
But hate cannot endure, it's the emptiness more that I fear.
And fear it is that keeps me alive, for what happens to me if I were to die?
Or perhaps death doesn't bother here, where it's cold, wet, and to me, no one ever speaks.
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