A Love Song, A Ghost Story (cont.)

Breath is stolen
And the tension builds
Oh, baby
Yours is the kind of love
That kills

What is a ghost?
A tear that falls to open palm?
Drifting melodies writ in song?
A familiar voice heard in a crowd?
Mem'ries familiar, kept in shroud..

No exact answers
No right or wrong
It's different for everyone
But they come along

They come and go
As they choose
They come and go
As ghosts do

Is it real?
Is it true?
Neither option
Matters much
To you...

Breath is stolen
And the tension builds
Oh, darling
Yours is the kind of love
That kills

...

(almost there...)

Untitled, but Happy Halloween anyway

Go to the back of the red barn
The one that's falling at the hinges
Get there at dusk
When the mist just starts to sit

He's gonna be there

A man's gonna be expecting you

You won't see his face
And his name, unmentioned
Only to help you
Is his only intention
Your secrets he knows,
And your dreams as well

Back of the barn!
Back of the barn, kid!

Feel that chill up you back
If it's the wind, you can't tell

Back of the barn, kid!
Back of the barn!

Eerie sights
But there are no sounds
Eerie silence is all around
He'll take your hand,
And hold it tight

'Everything will be alright
You're in dire straights,
I'm here to help.
In your darkest hours,
My presence, you've felt
Ask me a favor;
To your aid I will come.
But there's gonna be a price, boy!
Oh yes
There is always a sum.
Let's see that finger.
Just a prick of the thumb..'

Back of the barn!
Back of the barn, kid!

Is there blood on his hand?
O, god!
Why is it red?!

Back of the barn. kid!
Back of the barn!

'There ain't no pain, child
But I'll need your name in blood.
It'll ink our contract,
Or else our deal's no good.
Do you see the storm,
And hear the rumble as it arrives?
Are you a believer of omens, boy?
Do you believe in signs?'

...

(later)

Making Graves (Gabriel Grub)

He walks down Coffin Lane
And he makes the boys cry!
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!
He proposes a toast
To those soon about to die
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!
He makes a living by
Making Graves on Christmas Eve
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!
A natural born sinner
Too unapologetic to believe...
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!

Death is pretty
Very, very pretty
To Gabriel Grub
To Gabriel Grub
Graves are a living
Making Graves is a living
To Gabriel Grub
To Gabriel Grub

Another hole in the ground
Another coin in the pocket

Gabriel, Gabriel
Whatever will become of you?
Snarling at children
And mocking the dead
Your road to Hell
Is all that lies ahead

'Fuck your pretty posies
And your pretty words, too!
Making Graves is what I do!
What's more, it provides the means
For bottled company I keep
On the bitter nights
I plant you all to sleep!
All comes back to the grave!!
From your bodies
To your posies
To your loves
And your hates
All, my friend,
Come back to the grave!'

Death is pretty
Very, very pretty
To Gabriel Grub
To Gabriel Grub
Graves are a living
Making Graves is a living
To Gabriel Grub
To Gabriel Grub

'A stone at the head
A stone at the feet
A juicy meal for
Worms to eat!'

What man wonders among graveyards
On a night such as this?
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!
While others make merry,
Who makes the graves?
Grub
Grub
Gabriel Grub!

...

(continued, later)

[This was inspired by the story by Charles Dickens from his Pickwick Papers)

A Love Song (unfinished)

Do you believe in ghosts?
Have you felt the presence behind you?
The tickle about your neck?
Oh, how those moments are fleeting
Those close encounters
Those deathly meetings
Come and gone
Come and gone

When the hand of flesh
Meets that of the spirit
Oh, there are no words
Emotions, indescribable
But to feel that
Unearthly realm
If for a moment, only
To not be alone
Oh, the strangest feelings
Shaken to the bone

Breath is stolen
And the tension builds
Oh, baby
Yours is the kind of love
That kills

The Ladies of Sorrow (an unfinished dream)

Three sisters dance in the distance
They are temptresses of darkness,
Of night,
Of sin
They dance in the midnight garden
Whizzing and whirling around the roaring fire's light
Smiles spread wide in honor of the dead
And magic
And spirits

As there were three Fates
There are three Ladies of Sorrow
For three Graces
There are three Furies,
Just the same
Their laughter is unheard
Their songs, unsung
They speak the symbols
While I say the words

The first-born is honored with the title 'Madonna,'
Our Lady of Tears
Her dance is for lonely cries
Heard in the night
She haunts abandoned lovers,
Restless in the dark
Hers is the company of misery

For everything holy, there is something unholy
This is the essence of temptation

Oh, and the second sister
Our Lady of Sighs
She dances in the moonlight
For the sadness never brightened
For those whose hope is waned
She sings in whispers
Heard only in dreams

Tossing and turning in bed
You are left to wonder
What is pure,
And what is in vain?
Visions haunt you,
Just the same
You awake to call out a name--
Unheard--
Only to drift back
And dream of The Third

Ah, but the Third One?
The Third One?!

You listen, friends,
And you listen close
This Third Sister
Is no ordinary ghost

...

(continued later)

[Break between verses 3 and 4 is from "The Omen"]