The Tooth Fairy Of Dunmore Street II

punk, retro horror-punk, gritty, undead-elviss baritone vocals, punk rock, wind fx, horror fx, ghostly loughter, sparse ghostly background-choir (oh)

V5.5

Mr. Creed keeps shop on Dunmore at the crook end of the lane
Where the gaslight never quite reaches and the cobblestones are stained
His window's full of specimen jars lined up neat as Sunday prayer
Milk teeth, wisdom teeth and molars - every kind of tooth is there
He buries all the bodies of the parish, dresses every dead
But it's not the bones he's after - it's the small white ones instead

He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he comes when the candle's low
Creeps between the dark and dreaming where the sleeping children go
Leave your tooth beneath your pillow, leave your window off the latch 
He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he takes more than you'd catch

Mrs. Albright lost her youngest to the scarlet fever in the fall
Mr. Creed was at the graveside - most attentive of them all
Brought a wreath of dried white flowers, said a prayer so soft and neat
Then stayed behind to help the sexton - tidying the winding sheet
The widow never noticed what was missing from the mouth
Just a kindness from the undertaker - nothing to speak about

He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and his jars go floor to ceiling
Every soul that passed through Creed's cold hands left something for his keeping
Milk teeth, wisdom teeth, the teeth of sailors, thieves and kings 
He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he catalogs everything

They say he reads the teeth the way a doctor reads a pulse
Holds them to the lamplight, turns them slow and cold and culls
Every crack a hard year, every root a story worn
Every tooth a life compressed to calcium and scorn

"They found his journals after. Forty years of careful notation.
The coroner's physician - a Dr. Haverstock - sat with the collection for three days.
On the fourth day he wrote to the Royal Society:
the cellular structure of dentine retains biological information long after death.
In theory - the enamel remembers.
Mr. Creed, who had no medical training whatsoever,
had understood this forty years before any of us."

He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and the science proves him right
Every tooth a tiny archive sealed in calcium and night
DNA and cellular memory locked in every root 
He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and the dead have things to contribute

He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and they locked him up at last
Nine hundred jars of evidence arranged by year and class
The judge called it defilement, called it madness, called it sin
But the Royal Society's still studying his collection 
and the teeth are talking from within

When the candle gutters low and the small hours start to creep
Check beneath your pillow child - and pray you're fast asleep

3105/7500

"My mother told me: when you lose a tooth, put it under your pillow. Something will come in the night and take it away. I asked her: what does it want with our teeth? She smiled - the way adults smile when they don't want to answer. Years later I found Mr. Orvil Creed's shop on Dunmore Street. The jars in the window. The smell of formaldehyde and old bone. I finally understood what comes in the night. And what it wants. And why it's smiling." Mr. Creed keeps shop on Dunmore at the crook end of the lane Where the gaslight never quite reaches and the cobblestones are stained His window's full of specimen jars lined up neat as Sunday prayer Milk teeth, wisdom teeth and molars - every kind of tooth is there He buries all the bodies of the parish, dresses every dead But it's not the bones he's after - it's the small white ones instead He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he comes when the candle's low Creeps between the dark and dreaming where the sleeping children go Leave your tooth beneath your pillow, leave your window off the latch He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he takes more than you'd catch Mrs. Albright lost her youngest to the scarlet fever in the fall Mr. Creed was at the graveside - most attentive of them all Brought a wreath of dried white flowers, said a prayer so soft and neat Then stayed behind to help the sexton - tidying the winding sheet The widow never noticed what was missing from the mouth Just a kindness from the undertaker - nothing to speak about He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and his jars go floor to ceiling Every soul that passed through Creed's cold hands left something for his keeping Milk teeth, wisdom teeth, the teeth of sailors, thieves and kings He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and he catalogs everything They say he reads the teeth the way a doctor reads a pulse Holds them to the lamplight, turns them slow and cold and culls Every crack a hard year, every root a story worn Every tooth a life compressed to calcium and scorn "They found his journals after. Forty years of careful notation. The coroner's physician - a Dr. Haverstock - sat with the collection for three days. On the fourth day he wrote to the Royal Society: the cellular structure of dentine retains biological information long after death. In theory - the enamel remembers. Mr. Creed, who had no medical training whatsoever, had understood this forty years before any of us." He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and the science proves him right Every tooth a tiny archive sealed in calcium and night DNA and cellular memory locked in every root He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and the dead have things to contribute He's the tooth fairy of Dunmore Street and they locked him up at last Nine hundred jars of evidence arranged by year and class The judge called it defilement, called it madness, called it sin But the Royal Society's still studying his collection and the teeth are talking from within When the candle gutters low and the small hours start to creep Check beneath your pillow child - and pray you're fast asleep

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