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
With 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 Frastley's grew sick with apprehension
The 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 notebooks and truncheons 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

As night were away, 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 sacrificed to the insect God

And then it was that little Millicent Frastley
Was sacrificed to the insect God