[Intro, half-spoken, grinning, with rising stomp and claps] Come on then, hush your gob and mind the candle flame— If the table starts knockin’, that means someone came. Rattle the veil, love, rattle it wide— Dead folk have stories and I’m on their side. [Verse 1, bright, cheeky, energetic] I grew up with bells and bitter herb smoke, With cracked old mirrors and charm-shop folk, With granny in the back room, sharp as a knife, Half in the grave and still full of life. She’d say, “Mind the salt, girl, mind the thread, Mind what you promise to the hungry dead, And if the room goes cold and the candles lean, Best ask polite what the devil they mean.” So I learned the knocks and I learned the signs, The cards, the names, the old blood lines, How to hold a séance proper and true, And how to tell a fake from a real one through. [Pre-Chorus, playful, inviting] Oh, gather round, don’t be shy, Some messages won’t lie down and die, If the dead still knock, I’ll let ’em through— Tea for the ghost and a chair for you. [Chorus, huge, catchy, stomping] Rattle the veil, let the lost ones sing! Bring me the whisper, the curse, the ring! I’ll carry the word from the dark to the day, And I love every minute they send my way. Rattle the veil, let the whole thing shake! Wake the cards and the old bones wake! If you’ve got the nerve and the coin to spare, I’ll fetch what lingers in the midnight air! [Verse 2, bouncy, affectionate, with delight] There’s Roseveil, love, all dark and still, Talks like a prayer and a winter chill, And saints above, I do adore When she starts on blood rites and old death lore. Most folk blanch or cross themselves, Or hide the truth on dusty shelves, But not that one—she’ll sit right down And speak of the grave like a proper crown. We’ll talk of bindings, of shades and names, Of hungry echoes and altar flames, And I grin so wide I near split my face— A goth cult priest with exquisite taste. [Pre-Chorus, with a wink] Some girls want roses, ribbons, lace, I want a spirit with a half-burnt face, A proper chat on the things below— Now that’s a lovely night, you know. [Chorus, bigger, gleeful] Rattle the veil, let the lost ones sing! Bring me the whisper, the curse, the ring! I’ll carry the word from the dark to the day, And I love every minute they send my way. Rattle the veil, let the whole thing shake! Wake the cards and the old bones wake! If you’ve got the nerve and the coin to spare, I’ll fetch what lingers in the midnight air! [Bridge, warmer, fierce with love] And granny sits like a deathwise queen, Crooked of hand but sharp of mean, Eyes like graves with lantern light, Still sees clean through every night. Living oracle, old black dove, Cross her and I’ll show you love— The sort that drags both worlds by thread To make you answer to the dead. I’d move the living, I’d stir the shade, I’d shake the roots of every grave, For the woman who taught me every art And stitched old ghost-song through my heart. [Breakdown, darker, punchier, defiant] And I hate the fools who mock the trade, Who call it tricks and charlatan shade, Then come round sobbing when the walls complain— “Please, miss Flint, make it stop again.” Nah. Mind your manners when you cross my door. Respect the craft or come no more. This family’s work was dearly won— Bone by bone and one by one. [Final Chorus, biggest, wildest, triumphant] Rattle the veil, let the lost ones sing! Bring me the whisper, the curse, the ring! I’ll carry the word from the dark to the day, And I love every minute they send my way. Rattle the veil, let the whole thing shake! Wake the cards and the old bones wake! From granny’s hearth to Roseveil’s flame, We keep the dead and living named. Rattle the veil, you heard me right! I’ll dance with shadows all the night! If there’s a voice that the world won’t hear, I’ll pour it tea and draw it near! [Outro, laughing, warm, a little eerie] Mind the candle. Mind the thread. Mind what you ask Of the quiet dead. And if the table gives a cheerful rap— Well, love... That means they’re back.
