Who knew that I’d be low below,
a troll ‘neath a bridge,
waiting for my next toll,
gathering mold
eating stale rolls and making mountains out of mole
skulls
just wanting to haul
someone close to me
Knights often want to cross
those Sir Chads make me mad
but I’m a nice guy.
The name’s Ross,
as I tip my hat
to the fair Ladies
The Knight sees this as a slight
and wishes to test his might
against my thick green skin
with a hope to win
the Lady’s affection
by killing this infection
My skin can defend ‘gainst swords
but not her words
as she cheers him on
Even after he died
she’s on his side
so below again I hide
I’ll sometimes whisper dirty things so mean
they make her blush, make him squeam
but it never changes my poor fate
so I stew and become irate
And I cry, and wonder why why
why won’t she consider a troll like me
(who’s really a nice guy)
I’d buy her dresses and pour her tea
if she’d only get past my ugly
Once I tried to lure a maiden fair
down into my humble lair
by making pretend I was a knight
though my visage would give her a fright
so I hid behind a mask of steel
her heart I soon would steal
but she wasn’t a fan of my piss bottles
or posters of anime models
and so she ran
And they all run on sight
but I spy up their skirts so I might
see something of interest
like peach or sweet citrus
if just a flash
as they pass
it’s better this way
to be a creep in the deep
unloveable and unwanted
ugly and forgotten
a son misbegotten
the rats even hide from my smell
as others pass by my hell
unknowing and unflinching
uncaring
I’m not the only one here
I’ve got friends, other trolls
(all of ’em, nice guys)
a society of the deformed never to reform
cursed since being born
we ran from the scorn
but they’re as bad at conversation as I
so it’s pretty qui-
et
Below this bridge is our home
keeps us safe from the storms
though I can’t help but feel more
that it’s all something of a metaphor
Mickey rights wrongs. Mickey wrongs rites. Mickey writes words, sometimes wrong words but he tries to get it write.