The churchyard path doth wend its way,
By mossy stones where bodies lay
Beneath the soil in eternal rest,
Their weary bones as dry as dust.
John De’Ath, a farmer’s son,
Had died in eighteen and seventy one.
By moonlight’s shadow on Hallowe’en,
He rises up to survey the scene.
A ghostly shroud in which he’d been bound,
Falls into pieces on the ground.
John is left in his birthday suit
To startle the choir,
He thinks it’s a hoot.
Floating in through the old church door,
He spies Miss Annie Withinshaw.
Annie had never seen such a sight
Of a naked man on choir practise night.
She grabs some specs from Mabel Fanlee,
To feast her eyes on John’s dingly dangly.
But John had been dead for many a day,
His manhood had simply rotted away.
His flesh was green, his eyes were gone,
There wasn’t much left of poor old John.
Annie stopped in mid carouse,
And fainted in the choir pews.
John felt guilty, turned and fled
To a draughty tomb and a cold, hard bed.