The Insect God

What has become of millicent frastley?
Is there any hope that she is still alive?
Why haven't they found her?
It's rather ghastly to think the little child was not yet five.

What has become of millicent frastley?
Last seen alone playing at the edge of the park
There was no one with her to keep her from straying away
And she wandered off into the oncoming dark

A silent and glittering black motor drew up
To where she sat nibbling grass
And an arm with two elbows then held out a tin filled with cinnamon balls
And beckoned the youngster in

What has become of millicent frastley?
Old feelings of horror, resentment and pity
... things which so seldom turn out for the best
As the last of the light died out in the west,
The car unobserved sped away from the city

The frastleys grew sick with apprehension
Which a heavy tea only increased
Though they felt it was scarcely genteel to mention the loss of the child
They phoned in the police

Police with their truncheons and notebooks descended
On the haunts of the underworld
In spite of their efforts, they ended with nothing
They could not find the girl

The car after hours and hours of travel
Arrived at a gate in an endless wall
It pulled up the drive and stopped on the gravel
At the foot of a vast and crumbling hall

... and hope started to languish
It soon was replaced by all manner of fear
The family twisted their fingers in anguish
And got them all damp with the flow of their tears

The child was removed to a ballroom whose hangings
And mirrors were streaked with a luminous slime
They lept through the air with their buzzings and twangings
To work themselves up to their ritual crime

They stung her and stripped off her garments and lastly
They sucked inside a kind of a pod
And then it was that little millicent frastley
Was sacrified to the insect god

And then it was that little millicent frastley
Was sacrified to the insect god

What will we do, we let you go home
And the plastic's all melted, and so is the phone
Who are the brain police?

What will we do, the label's come off
And the plastic's all melted, and the chrome is too soft

It's god, i see god
Sometimes i want to be a little girl...

Who are the brain police?

What will you do, the people you knew?
Where the plastic that melted, and the chromium too?
Who are the brain police?

I'm sorry to hear that