My Old Man’s A Dustman
A street shanty about Sigil’s Heralds of Dust faction.
Audible glamer by Jon Winter-Holt. Idea inspired by ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ [1960], which my mum used to sing to me — with apologies to Lonnie Donegan.
| Download the mp3 here: https://mimir.net/wp-content/uploads/My_Old_Mans_A_Dustman.mp3 |
My Old Man’s A Dustman
Now here’s a tale of my dear dad,
A dusty man so old.
He says that life’s a fleeting lie,
And death’s the truth untold.
My old man’s a Dustman,
He wears a Dustman’s hood.
He shuffles round the Lower Ward,
He’s so misunderstood.
He spends his days with lifeless husks,
Their eyes devoid of light.
He says the living are just dead,
Pretending they’re all right.
Oh, my old man’s a Dustman,
He wears a Dustman’s vest.
He talks to ghouls and skeletons,
And lays the dead to rest.
He’s got a mate named Factol Skall,
A lich with secrets deep.
Who whispers of the afterlife,
In dreams he haunts your sleep.
Oh, my old man’s a Dustman,
He wears a Dustman’s tie.
He dances with the zombies,
And they never question why.
He speaks of True Death’s silent call,
A realm of endless night.
He thinks we’re all just waiting here,
For death to set us right.
Oh, my old man’s a Dustman,
He wears a Dustman’s shroud.
But here’s the twist, dear listener:
I’m dead, and in the crowd!
So now he tells me it’s my turn,
To journey through the gloom.
To take my place in Hades,
Realm of eternal doom.
Oh, my old man’s a Dustman,
He wears a Dustman’s grin.
He’s sending me to my last stop,
To pay for all my sin.
But I don’t want to leave this place,
For hags and endless gray.
I won’t be staying in the Waste,
I’ll come back my own way.
Oh, my old man’s a Dustman,
He wore a Dustman’s shroud.
But now he lies in silence too,
Six feet under ground!
