Crematorium Moratorium
![[Burned]](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2b/b8/67/2bb867033592d6e8a37c60b002895c06.jpg)
S: Crematorium Moratorium
C:
Are you feeling warm by my fire, sitting next to your funeral pyre?
Can I interest you in a smoke, the last piece of rot before you croak?
I am a digger, a man who deals in shade,
And off to rest go all whom I’ve laid.
The brave sea captain, the Mother of Pearl, the Baby in White…
Their howling, pale faces stand vigil o’er me at night.
At the head of the bed I lay my weary ol’ dead-
For the Lord keepst me good while I do his deed.
V1:
Upon the crest rode brave Mordechai Blackwell, baron of the Far East.
Through Burma and Borneo he flew, slaying beast upon hideous beast.
His methods were proud, his disposition, cool,
A quiet path made from the chill of bodies killed.
With both wine and woman was he skilled,
Although he could never disappoint his own daughter,
A lass of eight who hadn’t yet any shoes to be filled.
Prudence was her name, yellow teeth and hands of burnished gold.
Mordechai would not be felled before the day she was to grow old.
But victory, victory, cruel mistress she be,
Decreed the sea captain to meet his fate for a pernicious fee.
On a winter’s night, wrapped in sheets of blackest fright.
Blackwell the Bastard could not see the caps for the ice.
His crew a’ flail and his boat sinking up to the sail,
There was nothing the crusader could do but cut through the gale and
Watch as his feet gave way to sea bottom,
Buried up to his eyeballs in sea salt,
Giving an agonizing last wail.
C:
Are you feeling warm by my fire, sitting next to your funeral pyre?
Can I interest you in a smoke, the last piece of rot before you croak?
I am a digger, a man who deals in shade,
And off to rest go all whom I’ve laid.
The brave sea captain, the Mother of Pearl, the Baby in White…
Their howling, pale faces stand vigil o’er me at night.
At the head of the bed I lay my weary ol’ dead-
For the Lord keepst me good while I do his deed.
V2:
Mother of Pearl was the goodly tavern keeper Ms. Margaret May,
Back bent and skirt a’flying, she toiled on the bar bench night and day.
With whistle and flower, pep and step, she made quite the vaunted catch.
But she was always caring for her littlest seed-
young Pearl, who was never without a terrible scarlet rash.
For her forefather gave her the lash,
and the dear babe never spoke a word evermore.
So Pitiful Pearl, a quiet dollie,
Would wait for her mother by the holly,
And sing sweet tunes in the midsummer rain.
But woe is to the mother, the jewel of the south port,
When her fingers and toes began to contort!
She could no longer swill a bottle or fill a draught,
And all her limbs were at first shaking, then stilled.
How Pitiful Pearl wept for her mother killed!
C:
Are you feeling warm by my fire, sitting next to your funeral pyre?
Can I interest you in a smoke, the last piece of rot before you croak?
I am a digger, a man who deals in shade,
And off to rest go all whom I’ve laid.
The brave sea captain, the Mother of Pearl, the Baby in White…
Their howling, pale faces stand vigil o’er me at night.
At the head of the bed I lay my weary ol’ dead-
For the Lord keepst me good while I do his deed.
V3:
And yet I still have to divulge the accurs’d fate
Of the Baby in White, stolen right out of her carriage and discovered too late.
‘Twas an evening of rest and respite, stars flying on broomsticks just like any other night.
Young Janice awoke to quite a fright-
She was floating ever so quickly down a riverbed,
The rushing waters painting o’er top her little head.
Naught could be done,
The moon did not make way for the warm sun.
But before dawn would arise, a young fawn would arrive,
And in her teeth would gather good Janice up.
Janice was cold, a child not so old, and she would not still,
For in her bones was a terrible chill.
The fawn made haste to her den from the banks of the dread cold river,
Alas! The babe was turned to stone and had ceased to shiver.
The Baby in White was lain on the straw,
and the deer mourned for her until the permafrost did thaw.
C:
Are you feeling warm by my fire, sitting next to your funeral pyre?
Can I interest you in a smoke, the last piece of rot before you croak?
I am a digger, a man who deals in shade,
And off to rest go all whom I’ve laid.
The brave sea captain, the Mother of Pearl, the Baby in White…
Their howling, pale faces stand vigil o’er me at night.
At the head of the bed I lay my weary ol’ dead-
For the Lord keepst me good while I do his deed.
O:
So ends my tales of aught, blight, and woe-
Come gather ‘round, I have more bodies to throw
Into the desolate doom and dust,
Where their souls from their mortal coils do bust.
Good listener, I know what fate awaits mine old and wretched bones-
It is one of crushing wind and smoking stones.
So have pity on me and my well to do sacrament
For someday, I will meet you all in the eternal firmament.