A voodoo moon rides
over the sugarcane;
Gators glide through
the mangrove trees;
Dead men dance in
Lake Ponchartrain.
She loved him. He
left her like a hurricane:
Broken down and
riddled with disease.
A waning moon rode over
the sugarcane.
She got a gris-gris
filled with wolfsbane,
Dropped in a picture
of that lousy sleaze.
Dead men dance in
Lake Ponchartrain.
Padlocked him up in a
rusty chain,
Turned a stone ear to
his whining pleas.
A red moon rode over
the sugarcane.
She drove him out
there in hammering rain,
Parked in a clump of
zombie trees,
Watched dead men
dancing in Lake Ponchartrain.
He’d never hurt
another girl again.
As his face sunk down
she laughed with the breeze.
A voodoo moon rides
over the sugarcane,
And a dead man dances
in Lake Ponchartrain.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It's almost Halloween, so it's time to break out the semi-spooky stuff. Wooooeeeeeooooo...
