Underneath the derelict stare
the faltering footstep leads them there
to silos just beyond the chair
where Stanley reads from Baudelaire squares
Shiny spat on the vulture twins
as they cut their wings and paralyzed him
in his armchair, unaware the chattering skull
had sunk its teeth in the sputtering hole
And he'll make it back home tonight
as he's led through the air by a tattered kite
that cuts the sky with a fiery rage
as the vulture stands with a handsome gaze
Trapped inside a midnight fair
with a scarecrow ripping out his hair
when shiny boots take him through
the cornfield just behind the school
where Rudyard played when he was young
where the kite pulled him up and his body swung
In the death charade, death charade
let's all play in the death parade
Death charade, death charade
let's all march in the death parade
And he'll make it back home tonight
as he's led through the air by a tattered kite
that cuts the sky with a fiery rage
as the vultures swoop with a handsome gaze
A true hidden treasure of a song writer. This gent has been capturing songs in demo form on old tape recorders since the 80s. . . and he's still capturing his magic sounds in his secret basement. Damien Youth