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Show A SEASON CHANSONETTE. Melter of lava, and boiler of mud, Ruler of regions that need no coal, If we drop you a man with a sickly thud, Take you the monster and sizzle his soul. Toast him in ashes and broil his hide, Torture him ever without release, On a ten-tyned fork, in a hell-bent ride, Carry the furnace inventor, please. We pile the fuel,, the clinckers pound, We mash our fingers and say some things That probably do not always sound Like voices we read of with big white wings. And after working like Trojans strong, We go to bed to try to get warm; So, devil, old man, do not go wrong, But take this fellow and do him harm. Drop him in caldrons of molten lead, Peed him on cinders and let him burn, (A white hot taper to singe his head), Bake him in ovens and make him learn. Give him a pillow of clinkers hot, With a sheet of flame, and perhaps he'll yell Like others who want to get warm, but cannot, "Maker of Furnace, This is Hell." TOD GOODWIN. |
