The Story of Slasher

September 19, 2009 at 10:20 am | Posted in Song | Leave a comment
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Any minor twelve bar blues progression will do, as long as it's fast.

Any minor twelve bar blues progression will do, as long as it's fast.

I’ve got a story, just for you,

about a girl that I once knew,

A girl born under a harvest moon,

in the house of Mars on the cusp of June.

The whole town got a nasty fright,

when Slasher’s birth scream split the night.

 

She grew up fast on the family farm,

long of leg and strong of arm,

And when her father’s tractor broke,

he harnessed Slasher to the yoke,

And downing raw meat, eggs and beers,

she ploughed those fields for eleven years.

 

When she turned twelve, as a special treat,

her dad let Slasher cut the meat

Of a cow he’d killed for her birthday,

to celebrate at a party gay,

But as Slasher slowly took the knife,

something snapped, and changed her life.

 

Deep within an evil streak,

bitter bile began to leak.

Sick of slaving all her life,

she killed her dad, and then his wife.

At the age of twelve, she stood and swore,

unholy faith to blood and gore.

 

Chorus 1  (fortissimo)

 Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher,

She cut off their heads and shoved them down her neck.

 

She’d chopped her parents into bits,

because they’d given her the shits.

When she was done, she gave a roar: 

‘I like meat, and I want more!’

So gulping the last pieces down,

she, and her knife, set off for town.

 

On the way, her pet dog, Stan,

bounded up and licked her hand.

She felled him with a fatal blow

and disemboweled him, top to toe,

While Frank, the postman at the gate,

met with the same grisly fate.

 

Just out of town there was a shack,

where lived a pensioner named Jack.

He was a gentle, kindly bloke,

who died at Slasher’s second stroke.

And with her hunger barely spent,

into town Slasher went.

 

She feasted hard, she feasted long,

on limb and brain, heart and schlong.

Then up into the hills she fled,

and in a dark cave made her bed

And once a month, for nine long years,

she fed on grown-ups, kids and beer.

 

Chorus 1

 

One night, Mars eclipsed the moon,

and all the good townspeople knew

That with the dawning of the sun,

Slasher would turn twenty-one

And though it caused and awful rift,

they chose among themselves a gift.

 

A boy with hair as black as night,

complexion fair and body tight

Was stripped and scrubbed with sacred soap,

and tightly bound with golden rope.

Then, creeping with the stealth of mice,

the people left their sacrifice.

 

On her birthday, Slasher stirred,

and took the boy without a word.

As she prepared herself to feed,

she caught his eye, and felt a need

That hitherto she had not known,

the seeds of love had just been sown.

 

‘Young boy, will you marry me? 

We’ll live in filth, beside the sea.

I’ll catch people, you’ll catch fish,

and I’ll fulfill your every wish.

And look!  To show you how I’m fond,

I’ve loosened all your golden bonds.’

 

When he was free the boy stood tall

and grabbed her knife from off the wall.

He plunged it in her beating heart,

and then the blood began to start.

It flowed ’til half past six that night,

when, at the climax of their fight:

 

Chorus 2  (fortissimo)

Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher, Slasher,

He cut off her head and shoved it down her neck.

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Crazy Comrade

August 30, 2009 at 10:03 am | Posted in Song | Leave a comment
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The Author on a fact-finding mission, somewhere in Russia.

The Author on a fact-finding mission,
somewhere in Russia.

Contrary to appearances, this is the most complex of all my sung stories. Drawing heavily from the works of Alexander Solzhenitsyn, it is a love song of the most desperate kind, as sung by a prisoner of a dystopian Communist state.

Each line is both an attempt to distil one characteristic of the system and a specific affirmation of love as an all-conquering force.

[Sing with a heavy Russian accent, to the tune of Wild Thing by The Troggs]

Crazy comrade,

You make my sentence appear shorter.

You make everything politically expedient.

Oh crazy comrade.

Crazy comrade, I think I won’t inform my superiors of your subversive activities.

But I may still break under torture.

Come on and share this rotting turnip with me.

I queued for three days to get it. Yeah!

Crazy comrade,

You make salt mine work less arduous.

You make everything less painful.

Oh crazy comrade.

Crazy comrade, I think I can mend your tractor.

But I must travel to Minsk to barter for a fan belt.

Come on and drink this toxic potato liquor with me.

We have twenty minutes to curfew.

Yeah!

[Rock out.]

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