[Verse 1] She mocked me ‘fore the peasantry, Beneath the maypole’s sway— Harlequin crown upon her brow, Her teeth in disarray. The wenches laughed—at me, I swear— While she drank deep and roared. And though I smiled, she teased my hilt: She'd danced too close to sword. [Refrain] The Turkey waits in the catacombs, Where jesters drink and die alone. [Verse 2] I offered her a rarer draught— A cask of finest age. A barrel steeped in dusky fire, Distilled from bitter rage. She followed where the torches led, Her tail the pendulum. Her bells jingled soft down spiral stone— Each step a funeral drum. [Refrain] The Turkey waits in the catacombs, Where velvet hips make slab their throne. [Verse 3] She laughed and fetched her own flask out— Wild Turkey, warm and bold. She poured it slow upon my tongue, Her breath like marigold. She leaned against the crypt-side wall, Her leg brushed mine in jest— But never yielded, only licked, And twirled behind me, facing west. [Refrain] The Turkey waits in the catacombs, She withdrew from yearning lodestone. [Bridge] “You've wronged me,” said I, brick in hand— “You flaunt, you sting, you jest!” She giggled through the coughing dust, Then popped her denim vest. I laid each stone with trembling wrath, The sweat fell from my brow— She hummed a tune I half recalled, But could not place till now. [Refrain] The Turkey waits in the catacombs, She laughed between each mortar stone. [Verse 4] But silence fell too early then. I paused to hear her breath. No giggle. No clink. No mocking song— Just cold, encroaching death. I turned—and found four walls complete. My torch began to fade. She stood beyond the bricked-up wall, And laughing danced away... [Final Refrain] The Turkey's trapped in the catacombs, And I shall drink, and lust, and die alone. [Outro] My hands are raw. My throat is blown. My flask is dry. The crypt my home. “For the love of God... Scuzzy!!!”
