Fränz Müller

Beneath the Black Thumb of Charon

Awaken from your slumber, lass

Behold his eyeless face

The seeming horror to the ‘live

Is really touched by grace!

Climb aboard his dreamy craft

And pay a two pound note

For a guide in Hell will not abide

A spendthrift in his boat…

Behold the lawn of prairie fire

The hot ash in your eyes

T’will make you wish you’d gone to church

Beneath those pale blue skies!

But crying will not help you now

Disrobe, and take your licks

For weeping blisters beat hands down

A swim in yonder Styx…