In the garden district
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Where the plants grow strong and tall
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Behind the bush there lurks a girl
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Who makes them strong and tall
|
The villagers call her
|
Quicklime girl........Behind her back
|
Quicklime girl........Behind the bush
|
Quicklime girl
|
She's the mistress of the salmon salt
|
Quicklime girl
|
Quicklime girl
|
Quicklime girl
|
|
In the fall when plants return
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By harvest time she knows the score
|
Ripe and ready to the eye
|
Yet rotten somehow to the core
|
And they call her
|
Quicklime girl........Behind her back
|
Quicklime girl........Behind the bush
|
Quicklime girl
|
She's the mistress of the salmon salt
|
Quicklime girl
|
Quicklime girl
|
Quicklime girl
|
|
A harvest of life a harvest of death
|
One body of life one body of death
|
And when you've gone and choked to death
|
With laughter and a little step
|
I'll prepare the quicklime, friend
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For your ripe and ready grave
|
For your ripe and ready grave
|
|
It's springtime now and cares subside
|
And the planning's almost done
|
And fertile graves it seems exist
|
Within a mile of that Duke's joint
|
Where Coast Guard crews still take their leave
|
Quite listless in the sun
|
And the quicklime girl still plies her trade
|
The reduction of the many from the one
|
And they call her
|
Quicklime girl........Behind her back
|
Quicklime girl........Behind the bush
|
Quicklime girl
|
She's the mistress of the salmon salt
|
Quicklime girl
|
Quicklime girl........They call her
|
Quicklime girl
|
|
A harvest of life, a harvest of death
|
Resumes its course each day
|
It comes as if by schedule
|
A harvester lifts his arms to the rain
|
And toes that crawl
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And knees that jerk
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And necks like swans that seem to turn
|
As if inclined to gasp or pray
|
|
-----------------
|
MISTRESS OF THE SALMON SALT
|
| Blue Oyster Cult |
