He's a seaside side-show freak armed with the tools of the trade Standing in shadow by cemetery gates The revenant tenants of this tenement yard Raise two fingers to the fates No solace to be found in their foetid tombs He at leisure to violate those catacomb wombs Plots twist with hosts yet unwilling Last sods of earth clawed away He knows they know what he knows Polite enough to knock upon the lid of each box To await their invitation before being so bold Cracked heart stutters in hollow chest so cold So, sunk deep in festering flesh, their baubles stripped at leisure Guiltless here, without compa**ion. Taking pleasure in their corruption It all gets worse when he finds a fresh one To be carted off as contraband for the medical profession So, nefarious urges sated, pockets a-brimming with shining trinkets He plays at brother Magpie's games. Heart a flutter of oily black Leaning back against a monument, heedless of inscription A stolen cigarette fumbled from a hidden poacher's pocket He may yet take a moment to ponder Upon the marble town of Yonder And maybe just a trice to wonder Why her bone orchard saplings never say a word And only come out to play, when he requests admission Then a**uming rite of pa**age, in decayed pa**age ways So he loads his barrow with the fruits of God's acre And all away upon his toes he goes To shower his bone sore friends in their ivory sewers With gifts all rent asunder But all willing, unresisting. Spoiled fruits of plunder