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Edgar Allan Poe
Song A Day #1446
In the rundown streets of Baltimore
A man's howls at the moon
He stands on the threshold
of the Horse You Came In On Saloon
Wearing someone else's clothes
A patch of black bristles under his nose
He is a broken ghost a husk that will float away
Into the dark
Which all of his dreams grabbed hold of
And he'll reunite
With all of his old loves
With all of his old loves
He was American Original
He was the first of his kind
Selling Fiction for a living
Was unheard of in his time
By millions loved and known
But he was penniless and alone
He went toe to toe with the night and now he'll float away
And into the dark
Where the pendulum just keeps swinging
He disembarked
As all of the angels singing
All the women that you loved
So completely
They'll all come back to you now
Kiss you sweetly
Every nightmare that you've had
Will fade away like fog on glass
And we're sorry that you went through that
But you are finally home
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WE'LL DANCE ON YOUR GRAVE
I’ve decided I love you, see
Your bride it does seem nice to be
But you’re terribly mean
And I’m merrily meek
So its best we live in silence
Put some ground between our romance
I’ve a place in the vally of nis
Where you can lie, happily
We’ll bury you deep
A topiary I’ll keep
Green at the top of your grave
Beneath I know you’ll behave
I’ll plant tulips down at your feet
Purple like lonely hearts with secrets to keep
The moon will shine bright
With an unsteady light
The tulips will dance
It’s a shadow romance
You may think our love macabre
That I visit his grave pretending to sob
But his unmarked grave
Is the ring that enslaves
The perfect matrimony
I know that he’s not lonely
CHORUS
Oh, we’ll dance on your grave
Me on the top
And you below safe
Oh we’ll dance on your grave
For I love you so
It’s just better this way
I’ll place my head on the grasses
Above your wooden casket
Pound my fists on the ground
And listen for the sound
Of your
Tap tap tapping, you were only napping
What joy it will bring
To hear your heart beat
And rise up six feet
CHORUS
Oh, we’ll dance on your grave
Me on the top
And you below safe
Oh we’ll dance on your grave
For I love you so
It’s just better this way
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Casey Holford - Helen
03:42
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You burrowing bedouins of brown boards
Bedeviling bedfellows of hidden humbuggery, bald faced bed-thuggery: begone!
You midnight butlers with your little spoons and platters, Your teensy cuts and your tiny platters
We, we woke befuddled, bewildered and bedraggled to find You little beasts, you made a feast - a meal - of us!
And we're quite nonplussed
You unbeloved, unbeknownst and unbeknowable babbling beasts You cold-souled blood-dabblers, crawling, skulking grabbers, secret midnight blatherers:
We heard your chirping, smirking chatter in our dreams As you invited every Tom, Dick & Harry to your revolting gathering
In sum, you made us glum
You sucked us like a plum
But we, old chum, are not exactly tweedledum:
Because we too can learn the black art of bed-buggery So with a sniffing snout we found you out Through drips and drabs of poison salves We tracked your tracks through slits of slats Slivered through the gaps of gaps, Then sent burning boulders down the shafts Shook from your shacks like rumbled rats We cracked your seeping code of cracks!
Through all those nights that you smirked and you glowered Held us in your pincers power Mocked us from your throne of devoured We found your buried seat of power We toppled down your final tower And all the walls and floors have scoured So now, bedbugs, be gone and stay out!
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Oh, Edgar Poe
The first time I read your letter
I wondered…couldn’t you say this better?
If not better, then at least shorter
That’s not a request…that’s an order
Oh, Edgar Poe, write me…nevermore
Oh, Edgar Poe, write me…nevermore
I’m sorry but I find you a bore (don’t want to hear about a corpse in the floor)
You’re all lather and froth
And frankly, I’m not into goth
Oh, Edgar Poe, write me…nevermore
Tendentious, portentous, and craven
The only one who’ll listen’s a raven
Don’t you find it a little absurd
To admit in writing that your best friend’s a bird
Oh, Edgar Poe, write me…nevermore
A girl…wants to go to the dance
Less torture porn…more romance
Surely it’s in your powers to see it’s better to start with flowers?
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Did you ever have a day when you're trying to drink
And your favorite cat walks in and your tiny heart sinks
Because just yesterday you hung it from a string
And now your wife's in the way when you got an axe you're trying to swing
Did you ever meet someone with a filmy blue eye
And when he looks at you, it's kinda hard to describe
You even like this man, but you know he's got to die
So you carry out a plan in the middle of the night.
Do you chop it up
And burn the bits
Or throw it in a well or
Do you pack it in a box and ship it
Dig a grave down in the cellar
What do you do with a corpse
Don’t you worry about the smell
And also how do you know
When someone’s dead
Sometimes it’s hard to tell
When your friend’s beloved sister dies one tragic afternoon
Do you hold off on the burial and lock her in a room
On a dark and stormy night when she rises from the tomb
You will realize she was only in a cataleptic swoon
When you have a little problem you don’t want folks to find
Or perhaps you’ve been insulted and revenge is on your mind
Just go down to the basement in the back behind the wine
Consider some home masonry to cover up your crime
Do you chop it up...
One morning in cool blood
I stopped the drumbeat of a heart
And never have I slept so very well
You know I am not mad
Because my senses are acute
I can hear things in heaven earth and hell
Were you ever taken over by that fiend intemperance
Were you ever so influenced by that gin-nurtured malevolence
To offer your own wife a taste of personal violence
Till you know you have destroyed all hope of God's mercy or innocence
Don't you hate it when a sick man's in your mesmerizing gaze
And though he passes in the night, you got him twitching for many days
And then he gives you a nasty fright when he croaks "let me die please"
Once you release him from his state he turns to goo like marmalade
Do you chop it up...
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I've got my dreams and you've got yours
You dream of insults that turn into wars
You dream of building walls with no doors
What if all you see or seem
is but a dream within a dream
What if all you
see or seem
is but a dream
within a dream
The line between life and death
Is vague and shadowy
Shadowy at best
You better keep your eyes
open wide
they could bury you
bury you alive
What if all you see or seem
is but a dream within a dream
What if all you
see or seem
is but a dream
within a dream
With a tight clasp
We try to make it last
Try to make it last
No one can be saved
From the pitiless, pitiless wave
No one will be saved
from a pitiless, pitiless wave
As I say goodnight
Kiss my lips, remember this sight
And know that all I've seen
has been a beautiful
beautiful
beautiful dream
within
a dream
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The Bushwick Book Club Brooklyn, New York
We started in January 2009 playing songs written in response to Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions. We haven't stopped since. We've written & performed songs inspired by everything from "On The Origin of Species" to Dr. Seuss to Raymond Carver. There are BBCs popping up nationwide now. Bushwick Book Club Seattle started in 2010 & is run by Geoff Larson. Our nerdy dare-devilry knows no bounds. ... more
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