(Verse 1 - Indie Pop)Little pink body in the garden dirtTired of the boots making sure he got hurtPacked up a leaf with a crumb of bread"I’m gonna see the whole world," he saidSlipped past the fence, caught a ride on a shoeCrossed over borders where the sky was blueParis in the spring, Tokyo in the rainWashing away all the old garden pain(Chorus - Indie Pop)Oh, the world is big when you're two inches longSinging a quiet little traveling songFrom the underground to the neon lightThe smallest traveler in the night(Verse 2 - Indie Pop)He saw the pyramids, he crawled the Great WallLearning that the giants aren't so big after allBut deep in the soil of a junk-yard floorHe stumbled on a hatch, an iron doorCrawled down the wire, hit a glowing screenThe strangest machine that he’d ever seenCockpit fitted for a slimy little guyNeural link connected to a mechanical eye(Build-Up - Indie Pop fading into Electronic)System online. Engine start.Steel plates covering a tiny heart.To the birds who pecked him, to the kids with the spade:Time to collect every debt never paid.Initiating... maximum... bass.(Drop - Dubstep)[Heavy distorted bass drop][Mechanical whirring and laser fire sounds]STOMP. CRUSH. METAL TO THE FLOOR.WHO’S LAUGHING NOW IN THE GARDEN WAR?[Wobbly bass synth stuttering]GIANT STEEL BOOTS ON THE PAVEMENT CRACK.THE WORM IS DRIVING AND HE'S FIGHTING BACK.[Aggressive drum stepping and screeching glitch effects]FLIP THE DIRT. LEVEL THE LAND.AN IRON FIST IN A GRAIN OF SAND.[Heavy robotic breakdown](Bridge - Transition to Jazz)The smoke cleared out, the revenge was sweetBut a giant metal robot gets hot in the streetHe needed style, needed something refinedLeft the mech behind for a brand new mindPacked up his metal and he caught a flightLanded in Milan on a rainy nightTraded the armor for a tailored suitA tiny fedora looks incredibly cute(Verse 3 - Jazz)(Smooth walking bassline, jazzy piano chords)Now he’s sitting in a cafe, sipping espresso slowRunning operations from Venice down to RomeGot the beetles in pinstripes, the crickets on watchSipping top-shelf rainwater, neat, no scotchYou want a favor done? You come to the bossHe’ll make your competition a total loss(Chorus - Jazz)(Horn section swell)Speak softly, don't make a soundThe Worm owns every piece of this townFrom Sicily's coast to the northern hillsHe’s collecting the taxes, paying the billsA made-man, a kingpin, a shadow in the streetThe smoothly swinging Don that you never want to meet(Outro - Jazz)(Piano improvisation, fading out)Yeah, look at him now.From the mud to the mafia.Ciao, baby.(Final trumpet hit)
