A drunken mystic almost missed it
on the ceremonial stairs to the Golden Dawn:
the ectoplasm sent a spasm through his chest.
Crystal balls clashed and clattered to release the anti-matter.
Chorus: In the darkness of the room
phosphorescence lit the gloom,
as the parlour became a tomb,
he fell in love with the Banshee on her broom.
They didn’t come to dance; they came for a séance,
but now they found themselves swirling, whirling in a trance.
The shaking chandelier, the medium is gripped by fear,
down the hall the spectres scattered, then flew directly at her.
Chorus
They all touched finger tips. She gently kissed his lips;
they were having the time of their past lives.
She turned to him and said: “It’s a message from the dead”.
Now you know how he was smitten, and that this song was ghost written.
Chorus