Send in the trolls.
Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the trolls?
Send in the trolls.
Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the trolls?
Quick, send in the trolls.
Don't bother, they're here.
Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the trolls?
There ought to be trolls.
Well, maybe next year.

My real name is Frenchi Babè.