Thank-you Lady Sapho for both of your brilliant carols! It’s Tricky to find the tune for that last one. As I get more and more from such clever people I kept finding that It’s Like That.
Away in a Mirror (Alternatively: Away with the Manager)
Away in a mirror, or am I in bed?
In a State of Confusion I lay down my head,
The Judgements can’t see me, down here in the gloom,
As I dream of fire, and clifftops and tombs,
The ravens are singing, I startle awake,
From strange dreams of chess games and candles and snakes,
I ask Doctor Schlomo to tell me for why,
"The coins of the night pay the toll of the sky, (hmm?)"
Nightmares is dropping…
Making Waves is increasing…
Having Strange Dreams: A Yuletide Visitation is Increasing - 4 More of Gravy than of Grave!
My guest room is cosy, my jacket is snug,
With laudanum in hand I lie sprawled on the rug,
So cheers to the Manager and his tender care,
and come to the Bethlehem to visit me there,
I chose the most garishly awful Christmas song because I’m pretty sure if you sang this, you’d be a drownie (or worse!) before you even got past the first verse. Don’t sing it too loudly… Mr. Sacks might be right behind you. (I’m also pretty new, so.)
Sacky Baby
Sacky baby, just slip a Smile under the tree for my… enemy,
Been an awful good individualofmysteriousandindistinctgender, Sacky baby,
So hurry through the mirror tonight!
Sacky baby, a velocipede too, light blue;
I’ll burn my candle all year for you, dear, Sacky baby,
So hurry through the mirror tonight!
Think of all the Morelways I’ve spilled!
Think of all the citizens I haven’t killed!
Next year I could be just as good, if you check off my Ratmas list!
Sacky baby, I want a zubmarine, zounds, that’d be keen,
I’ve kept my soul all year; Sacky baby,
So hurry through the mirror tonight!
Sacky honey, one little thing I really need…
The key to a room at the Brass Embassy, Sacky baby,
So hurry through the mirror tonight!
Sacky cutie, and fill my stocking with Cider (not sorrow-spiders!),
Make your sack a little lighter, Sacky cutie,
and hurry through the mirror tonight!
Come and trim my Singular Plant with some bling (rats on a string?);
I really do believe in you;
Let’s see if you are placated by me!
Sacky baby, forgot to mention one little thing… A 12-Carat Diamond Ring!
(but please not a Mass, Roiling), Sacky baby,
So hurry through the mirror tonight!
Hurry through the mirror tonight!
Hurry… OH! WHAT A FRIGHT!
edited by La Melusine on 12/7/2015
I would also like to add that the actual meter of the original source material for Sacky Baby is unbelievably off-kilter (which is apropos to it being an awful song) and I did try to stick to it fairly faithfully. So any complaints about its a-mellifluous nature can be directed via the game of Knife-and-Candle to Mme. Joan Javits and Mssr. Philip Singer, who it has been often rumored but never proven, are fiercely defended by the Starveling (Eartha) Kitt. Tread lightly, delicious ones, and strike with abandon.
Vous êtes trop modeste, La Melusine. C’est magnifique! Merci beaucoup! :)
edited by Charlotte_de_Witte on 12/7/2015
@le melusine: I can just imagine Eartha Kitt singing this.
– Mal
UPDATE: Sadly, my efforts to persuade my friend to come to Fallen London failed. However, this! http://community.failbettergames.com/topic21203-fallen-london-song--revel-of-the-masters.aspx
There’s another individual who has, in times past, performed some grand conversions of Surface songs to Neathy carols. I give you, the ever maniacal genius Israel Salvador. Israel Salvador — LiveJournal
edited by OScarletO on 12/7/2015
Thank-you Mme. Fenwick! I knew this must have been tried before. What a fantastic trove of carols! Your own song is wonderful I must also say :)
Inspired by recent posts, here is my attempt at something a little more avant-garde.
(Hooo, Hooooo!)
Last Sacksmas, I gave you my soul.
But the very next day, you stole it away.
This year, to get Bazaar’s tears.
I’ll give it to someone neath-y.
Last Sackmas, I gave you my soul.
But the very next day, you took it away (you took it away).
This year, as Mr Sacks draws near.
I’ll give it to someone neath-y (neath-y).
[Rubbery Euphonium Instrumental]
Once charmed and twice shy.
Abstraction’s victim, but you still catch my eye.
Tell me devil do you recognize me?
Well it’s been a day, it doesn’t surprise me.
(Merry Sacksmas!)
From my mouth your lies forked it
In a glass prison, "God D–n You!"
You corked it.
Now I know what a fool I’ve been.
But if you proposed it now,
I fear I’d give it again.
Last Sackmas, I gave you my soul
But the very next day, it’s bottled away (Yes bottled away!).
This year, to get Bazaar’s tears.
I’ll give it to someone neath-y (neath-y)
Last Sacksmas, I gave you my soul.
It got sent it back, in a relick’r’s sack!
This year, when Penstock appears.
I’ll give it to someone neath-y (neath-y).
(Hooo!)
(Hooo! You devil)
[Small Consonant Violin Solo]
On my card deck, there with glowing eyes.
I’m ignoring you and your pack of lies.
Mr Sacks I know now is someone to rely on.
Me? I’ll have my Tastes of Lacre to bank on.
A smiling deviless with a fire in her heart.
My spirit and body both, she tore them apart!
(Hooo! Hooo!)
Now I’ve found a real fiend, you’ll never fool me again.
Last Sacksmas, I gave you my soul.
But the very next day, you stole it away (you stole it away).
This year, to get Bazaar’s tears.
I’ll give it to someone neath-y (neath-y).
Last Sackmas, I gave you my soul
But the very next day, you took it away (and threw me away!)
This year, as Mr Sacks draws near
I’ll give it to someone neath-y (neath-y!)
The face of a devil with a spark in his eye (why did you lie?)
Try it again, we’ll see if you demons can die.
(Maybe this year)
I’ll give it to someone, I’ll give it to someone neath-y.
(Neath-y!)
(Mr Sacks!)
[Dedicated in spirit if not sense to my wonderful editor!]
Choral movement for your next symphony, Charlotte?
– Mal
[quote=malthaussen]Choral movement for your next symphony, Charlotte?
– Mal[/quote]
I would be happy to describe it as Somewhat Challenging Music, but perhaps a little popularist for court?
Not a carol, but a poem – a collaborative effort with my darling wife Snotra.
'Twas the night before Sacksmas, and all through the Beth,
The fidgeting writers were dreaming of death.
The traitors were hanged, by the gate with fanfare,
The Widow, she knitted, with nary a care.
The urchins were nestled in the alleys of Spite,
Picking each pocket, beneath moonish light,
And Jack, with his knives, and the Squad in their grog,
Decided they needed new smiles, or a flog.
A noise then rang out with such din and such malice,
I thought that some glimfall’d, taken out the whole palace.
Out of St. Dunstan’s rushed Bishops and Vicars,
From the Parlour of Virtue, the gals in their knickers.
Even Jenny, her socks shining bright with allure,
Had a look of alarm, and became more demure.
Away to the pub I flew for good tiding,
With hope to be in my cups, or in hiding.
Yet outside my lodgings, a hunched figure stood
His face fully covered with a thick, fur-lined hood.
“And what have you brought me,” the old man declared,
“It’s the Twelve Days of Sacksmas, or hadn’t you heard?”
“Not Irons, Not Mirrors, Not Heats, Cups, or Fires,
I am the Master with a bag of desires!”
Such a curious old fellow, red robe on his back.
I knew in a moment, it must be Mr. Sacks.
I offered him secrets; I offered him clues;
I offered him honey, and stories, and booze.
He snatched up my gifts with a bone-chilling howl
I was happy I couldn’t see under his cowl.
Into his bundle, the goods he did dump,
‘Til his bag was misshapen like a rubbery lump.
And I heard him exclaim as he rushed out of sight,
“Merry Sacksmas for now, I’ll be back the next night!”
Poems are very welcome here! Especially when they are so excellently written! Many thank-yous to both yourself and to Snotra!!
- Please also to everyone, bring along any Sacksmas literary creations you have made, or would like to make of any medium. They are all of them very very welcome :) -
edited by Charlotte_de_Witte on 12/19/2015
@vitamancy: well, I can abandon my version of that one. No matter, it wasn’t going anywhere anyway.
– Mal
A disconcerting gang of Urchins crowd together on your rooftop, serenading passersby as well as any choir at St. Fiacre’s…
O come, all ye shameful, hiding from the Judgments
O come ye, O come ye down here to the Neath
Wander past Spires
Ride with Mr. Fires
O come down to the darkness
O come down to the darkness
O come down to the darkness
It’s marvelous.
Talk with the Urchins, numerous and grubby
They’ll charge you a bundle for a bucket of slush
Walk to the Bazaar, have a chat with Penstock
Then delve into the Wicket
Then delve into the Wicket
Then delve into the Wicket
And see all the Tears.
Watch out for devils, and the Masters’ revels
One takes your soul and the other your wines
Lacre is falling, Snowbound now your Lodgings
So shovel it or pay Fate
So shovel it or pay Fate
So shovel it or pay Fate
For Incarnadine.
Someone please write “God Rest Ye Rubbery Gentlemen”
Overheard from a group of drunk revolutionaries:
Here we come an’ arsoning
Among the shroom so damp.
Here we we come a’ wailing
An’ swinging round a lamp.
REFRAIN:
Rev-o-lution come to you
And to you our arson too,
And remember that phrase “Allll will be well”
And remember that “Allll will be well”
We are not Mr. Masters
Who rule from the Bazaar,
but we are lib-er-ators
who just burned down a bar!
REFRAIN
Then one of them vomited in the street and I didn’t get the chance to hear the rest of the song.
Carol of the B̶e̶l̶l̶s̶ REVOLUTION
Hark! Hear the Sun
Sweet, Sable Sun
Heed as it says
Throw Laws away
Darkness is here
Bringing good cheer
To young and old
Meek and the bold
Forever on
Laws are now gone
Now we are free
All sing in glee
One seems to hear
Words of great fear
Judgements now shout
As they go out
Oh how they scream
Ripped at their seams
High Wilderness
Now made lawless
Freedom shall ring
All worlds will sing
Songs of good cheer
Darkness is here!
Merry Merry Merry Liberation!
Merry Merry Merry Liberation!
On on extends
On without end
It’s darkened throne
To every dome
Hark! Hear the Sun
Sweet, Sable Sun
Heed as it says
Throw Laws away
(Not exactly sacksmas-y, but hey, it’s festive)
edited by Addis Rook on 12/22/2017
God Rest Ye Rubb’ry Gentlemen
a Sacksmas carol by Andele Vasyrich
God rest ye rubb’ry gentlemen,
Let nothing ye affright!
Remember the warm amber
We robbed from you last night!
To save us all from scandal’s power
From what she thought to write,
O tidings of irrigo and joy,
Irrigo, joy
O tidings of irrigo and joy!
She tried to flee across the Zee,
The amber di’nt suffice
To save her from the scandal
She paid the Bazaar’s price!
And now the neddy men are here
With Mr Iron’s device
O tidings of irrigo and joy,
Irrigo, joy
O tidings of irrigo and joy!
Calm down, ye desperate Londoners
And salivating gloves.
Remember that love stories
Don’t fetch much up above!
The false-stars gleam and lacre falls,
A devil’s bought a dove,
O tidings of irrigo and joy,
Irrigo, joy
O tidings of irrigo and joy!
God rest ye rubb’ry gentlemen,
For we all love your slime.
We promise not to kill you all
That would take too much time.
Peace and goodwill among ye
And may your poems rhyme!
O tidings of irrigo and joy,
Irrigo, joy
O tidings of irrigo and joooooooooy.