Stuff

The Ballad of Mordaci Bloode

Screaming Death was the most sought after band.

They played the biggest houses throughout the land.

With his platform shoes

and his bellbottom pants,

his leather fringed shirt

and his funky little dance,

Mordaci Bloode would strut across the stage,

bustin’ guitars with the crowd in a rage.

And when Mordaci ventured out for a beer,

people would stop and people would stare.

But Mordaci, Mordaci,

Mordaci Bloode just didn’t care.

And when rock turned to disco

and disco turned to punk,

Mordaci said,

“Who needs this junk?”

And he still kicked amps

and busted guitars,

and he and his roadies

would trash out the bars.

But towns grew thinner

and the crowds grew lean,

and then the band members said,

“We’re splittin’ this scene.”

And Mordaci shouted

that he didn’t care,

but you just can’t have a concert

when there’s nobody there.

Now Mordaci sits at the bar

drinking alone.

The fans have all left him,

the roadies gone home.

And nobody bothers

to stop and stare

at his outrageous clothing

or his wild, busy hair,

and none of his songs

are played over the air,

because nobody, but nobody,

nobody cares.