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[Copyright (c) 1993 by John H. Remmers]
The quiet moon shines bright above,
But not the moon that fosters love,
Best go home and hide within,
The moonface bears an evil grin.
The churchyard 'neath the starry sky
You'd better leave, on swift feet fly,
For hear the shaking of the stones,
The stirring of the grisly bones.
Night enshrouds the quiet street,
Then hear the shuffling of the feet,
The clapping of the bony hands -
The creatures of the underlands.
Two by two, in grim parade,
Loathesome shade by loathesome shade,
Hear the stir of fetid robe
Illumed by silent lunar globe.
Their voices mutter, can you hear
Of what they speak, and do you fear
That in their noise you'll catch a clue
That as they march, they speak of you?
14 responses total.
Why do dead skeletons have to be scary? Why can't they be friendly too? Sometimes when I walk through the cemetary, I get this cozy feeling. Death is so final and certain. I think about all the people who have passed on. They now rest for eternity. If somehow they could coffee up and dance about again a bit, now wouldn't that be a jolly fine thing? Some old geezer saying, "Pardon the stench. You see, comes with the territory. Thought I'd get up and stretch for a piece. If it harms your nose too terribly, just stand back a few extra paces. I'll be walking about a bit this evening. No cause for alarm."
That's possible I suppose, but I draw the line at affirmative action for 'em.
Harrumph.
I can see it now: Entitlement programs for the flesh-challenged.
We used to sing a song in elementary school: Have you seen the ghost of Tom? Long white bones with the skin all gone, Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo Tom! Wouldn't it be chiily with no skin on? It was a round.
What John's verse reminded *me* of (I'm tempted to say "of course") is Gilbert's "When the Night Wind Howls" (from G&S's _Ruddigore_).
Gee, I thought it read more like Vincent Price's "rap" in M. Jackson's "Thriller."
Re #6, #7: Any chance you have access to those lyrics and could enter them here? I'd be interested in seeing how similar they are to what I wrote. I've seen "Thriller" and on re-reading, #0 does have a sort of Thriller-like feel to it (though I wasn't conscious of that at the time I wrote it), but I'm not familiar with the Gilbert at all.
You're not familiar with _Ruddigore_? Wow. Catch it the next time UMGASS puts it on - it's really good, having some of Gilbert's best lines. Will post the lyrics sometime.
Here goes. (The music is good too):
Sir Rod.: When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls,
and the bat in the moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds,
sail over the midnight skies--
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail,
and black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday--
then is the ghosts' high-noon!
Chorus: Ha! ha!
Then is the ghosts' high-noon!
As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees,
and the mists lie low on the fen,
From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones
that once were women and men,
And away they go, with a mop and a mow,
to the revel that ends too soon,
For cockcrow limits our holiday--
the dead of the night's high-noon!
Chorus: Ha! ha!
The dead of the night's high-noon!
And then each ghost with his ladye-toast
to their churchyard beds takes flight,
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps,
and a grisly grim "good-night";
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell
rings forth its jolliest tune,
And ushers in our next high holiday--
the dead of the night's high-noon!
Chorus: Ha! ha!
The dead of the night's high-noon!
Hm. I've had to cut all the lines in half (most of them were wrapping), and
the effect is somewhat different. Though in fact the music divides them
in approximately the indicated manner.
This is shortly after the portraits of Robin's ancestors step out of their
picture frames, being revealed as ghosts in the process, to demand that he
commit his crime each day, & to put stipulations on what's an acceptable
crime. Here's the immediately-preceding bit of (recitative) dialog:
Sir Rod. Beware! beware! beware!
Rob. Gaunt vision, who art thou
That thus, with icy glare
And stern relentless brow,
Appearest, who knows how?
Sir Rod. I am the spectre of the late
Sir Roderic Murgatroyd,
Who comes to warn thee that thy fate
Thou canst not now avoid.
Rob. Alas, poor ghost!
Sir Rod. The pity you
Express for nothing goes:
We spectres are a jollier crew
Than you, perhaps, suppose!
Re#7, hehehehe....rap. that's funny
V. Price's "rap" from Jackson's "Thriller" Darkness falls across the land The midnite hour is close at hand Creatures crawl in search of blood To terrorize y'awl's neighborhood And whosever shall be found Without the soul for getting down Must stand and face the hounds of hell And rot inside a corpse's shell The fouldest stench is in the air The funk of forty thousand years And grizzly ghouls from every tomb Are closing in to seal your doom And though you fight to stay alive Your body starts to shiver For no mere mortal can resist The evil of the thriller (Into maniacal laugh, in deep echo) Thriller - By Rod Temperton. (c) 1982 Rodsongs (PRS), Administerd by Almo Music Corp. (ASCAP) in the U.S. and Canada; In the remaining territories by Rondor Music (London) Ltd. (PRS). All rights reserved. Used without permission.
Fangs a million for posting these excerpts!
Hrrrr Scary man. Real scary.
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- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss