March of the Small Folk

[Verse 1] Under the roots of the old oak stump Tiny helmets Crooked spears Imps with coal-black fingernails Counting down their borrowed courage Across the creek in the mushroom ring Gnomes in patched-up leather coats Polishing spoons like silver swords Mumbling secret garden oaths [Chorus] Oh It’s the battle of the imps and the gnomes Teacup shields and sunflower phones Acorn armor Thistle and thorns Little folk sowing big folk storms Oh The battle of the imps and the gnomes Shouting war cries in their borrowed clothes Bare feet slipping on moss-grown stones Fighting over who guards home [Verse 2] Imps strike first with dandelion dust Blinding eyes A yellow fog Gnomes push back with nettle ropes Trip an army in a soggy bog Fireflies circle like lantern drones Lighting every foolish charge Till one cracked kettle Used as a drum Booms too loud and wakes the yard [Bridge] Grandma’s slipper hits the porch Thunder to the tiny ranks (hey!) Every helmet Every horn Dives for cover in the plants A truce is signed on a bottle cap Shared sip from a berry jar Imps and gnomes Grass-stained hands Watching storms in the human stars [Chorus] Oh The battle of the imps and the gnomes Teacup shields and sunflower phones Acorn armor Thistle and thorns Little folk sowing big folk storms Now the imps and the gnomes walk home Trading jokes in the clover and loam Sing-song tales of the moss and stones Guarding every garden home