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 Superstition Coast 
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Serious Musician
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Joined: Thu Mar 22, 2007 1:43 am
Posts: 1693
this is a sequel of sorts to Strange Cargo... :)

Superstition Coast ©2013 Robert George BMI

Bonnie thanked the driver of the 18 wheeler
She was far from home but hoped the miles would heal her
She’s a grounded realist…a born survivor
So she listened with suspicion to the driver
When he told her “honey, this ain’t Indiana
This is hoodoo country in Louisiana
Legends say this bayside’s been infested by the undead or a dark warlock
Well, she smiled and once again she thanked him kindly
And her faith in proven facts would lead her blindly
To the shoreline and a place to sleep beneath an old amusement park boardwalk

Little did she know that folks were disappearing
And the city council had convened a hearing
Some had said that pothead surfer hit a riptide
And he’ll meet the Grateful Dead there on the flipside
Only one man in the village formed a theory
When they found the pale white corpse of Father Leary
Cos the Rev’rend’s cross was burned and crushed and blood was spattered on his white collar
Now that Padre’s in a warm celestial Eden
O but somethin’ out there fed while he was bleedin’
Was the dead of a night a talisman or haven for a hungry nightcrawler

And an old gravedigger nursed his knees and aching joints
As he carved his shovel handle to a sharpened pont


Bonnie woke up to a rumbling roller coaster
Strolled the boardwalk past the missing person posters
And the nervous vendor’s hands were gnarled n knotted
Said a bum was found with holes in his carotid
Then the vendor offered her some cotton candy
Whispered she should keep some holy water handy
And avoid the beach at night cos that’s where cops’d said that something could happen
Sure enough the minions of an undead warlord
Slept beside him right below some loosened floorboards
While a german shepherd stood guard on the shoreline by a beach front wood cabin

Well, the wizened old gravedigger’s almost eighty
And he knows those legends spread as a far as Haiti
Delta crossroads echoed songs of phantom bluesmen
Yet no one believed those tales but tabloid newsmen
Now the sun was setting slowly on the shoreline
And he walked the sands as stealthy as in wartime
Till he found some bodies strewn like ragdolls all around a smold’ring campfire
There were rum and roaches and some suntan lotion
And some fading footprints headed for the ocean
Drops of red on bodies drained had been the only traces of a vampire

Down the shoreline monsters rose up in their master’s thrall
Many walked but one would grab a surfboard near the wall


Well, the sharp old timer had begun a journal
Soon as he had learned the killings were nocturnal
He went to his trailer and he wrote by lamplight
Mulled the murders from the surfer to the campsite
And he knew the victims would become immortal
Somewhere in the darkness Hades had a portal
And he knew that out there on the bayside was the lair of the gatekeeper
So he dimmed his lamp and closed his eyes and rested
Come the dawn he’d locate where the undead nested
With a cross around his neck he prayed that sunshine wouldn’t be a late sleeper

Underneath the dock was chilly, damp and rancid
It was dark and Bonnie thought she had to chance it
Laid her blanket down and thought she’d made the right call
Better she stayed hidden after nightfall
Once her life was phones, the twitterverse and hashtags
Now she hauled her bed and home around in trashbags
And she had to brave another long night in a town controlled by black curses
Then she grabbed some driftwood and she started screamin’
When she saw the fangs and red eyes of a demon
Then she stabbed it and it turned to ash as clouds rolled by like Cadillac hearses

And yet hitchin’ home would never cross young Bonnie’s mind
Cos her new step-father was a demon of another kind


Well, the old man heard some noises by his trailer
Was it devils or another drunken sailor
But it was a young girl so he brought her in and wrapped her in a wool afghan
Bonnie told her tale and though her thoughts were hazy
She could tell he didn’t think that she was crazy
Right at sunrise they set out with bags of old fence pickets and a full gas can


Bonnie still had doubts about the superstitions
But her heart found purpose in the old man’s mission
Nearing dark they found the cabin and the hellhound
And at first his growl and red eyes held them spellbound
Then the old man stabbed the wild beast and he killed it
And its flesh dropped off its skeleton and wilted
Then he doused the place with gas and lit a match and burned the church of black masses
Twilight echoed with the wailing of the wicked
Some escaped but Bonnie killed them with a picket
And the old man was relieved that young kids aren’t all just pampered slackasses

After that the murders stopped and things were quiet
If a tourist asked the locals would deny it
But the old man read the nearby papers closely
And he’d clip out items that seemed strange or ghostly
Then one night a surfboard came ashore at high tide
Where some kids’d partied till their dreams were tie-dyed
And the old man read about another beach town with a string of odd killings
He had wondered if the dead still roamed the region
Or was that the last of Papa Legba’s legion
Either way with Bonnie’s help they’d rid the south of hell’s disciples…God willing

There’s a demon up the coastline surfin’ by the moon
And he’s made a vacant lighthouse his unholy tomb


Fri Feb 15, 2013 8:18 am
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Serious Musician
Serious Musician

Joined: Thu Mar 22, 2007 1:43 am
Posts: 1693
bump...


Wed Apr 17, 2013 10:21 am
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Serious Musician
Serious Musician

Joined: Thu Mar 22, 2007 1:43 am
Posts: 1693
bump


Sat May 18, 2013 1:50 pm
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