Uncalled For

Won't you light a candle

And turn off the other lights

Pull a chair up to the table

Take the hand that's on your right

Don't let your hopes be over-raised

It will or won't occur

Please free your minds and concentrate

On those long interred

I know this is unusual

For a get-rich seminar

But we will call up spirits

Who'll teach us to go far

They who knew the secret

Of fortune piled

Like Carnegie, Frick, or Gould

Hush, I think I feel one now

Here's my skull

With dried brains in it

You can set it on the mantle

Or hang it like a skillet

Here's my femur

Don't let it go to waste

You can use it for a poker

In your fancy fireplace

You've taken everything

Might as well take it all

Ere I return to the underworld

A curse down I call

May all of your dreamtimes

Be twisted and bent

And filled with night terrors

Until you repent

Repent of your greediness

And scheming hard hearts

I call down this imprecation

Of brimstone and sparks

Won't you please forgive me

For this bad spirit's words

He must have caught the slip-stream

Of others more preferred

I promise this is worth it

Just gaze at this great house

I've learned so much from moguls

Who are departed now

Don't be abashed, my friends

By an unexpected glitch

Sometimes the summoning

Brings a spiteful, vagrant witch

Let us breathe and try again

To call the giants of old

Who broke the backs of strikers

Hush, something is in the cold

Here's my ribcage

For your evening merriment

Play it just like a xylophone

Even fascists need to vent

And here's my long finger bone

I don't need it no more

But I'm pointing it at you

And at what you stand for

I cry havoc on you

On your fetish of lucre

Shall I tell you what I know

About your own spirit future?

You request robber barons

Those philanthropists, ha, ha

They gave to the public

What they stole from my fist

They built art museums

Libraries, schools for free

My wages were redirected

Half my life was garnisheed

O, foul spirit, be-gone!

Leave us to our own pursuits

How dare you treat us guilty

For desiring profit fruits

Silence! table-tipper

Shut your waxy, squinchin' lips

And listen to my soul a-wailin'

As music from the crypt