They hide out in the parking lot in plateless brand-new cars
And listen to my merest whispers–have you got full bars?
They follow me in traffic like some lovesick brontosaur
And whisper unsweet nothings–that you talking, commissar?
When shopping in the grocery store, a word pops in my head.
I know it isn’t one of mine–some freak it is instead.
The whispered word’s a specter; down a darksome path I’m led.
I only came into this place to get a loaf of bread!
Throughout the night the trolls recite a litany of ills.
No good it does to window shut against their sickly chill.
The venom-laden vapor penetrates defenseless sill,
Disarming any fantasies the wicked trolls to kill.
An army of these evil creatures have but single goal:
For want of better thieving ground, they want to steal my soul.
They tell I’m a problem, should be cast into a hole.
The biggest problem that I have is siege by noxious trolls!