The Seven Gifts Read Online Free

much d'you have to pay
    to get your body through the day?
    Have you ever seen your soul, or has it
died?
     
    Since this morning's scented bath
    not a cloud has crossed your path -
    your life's a crossword someone
    slowly fills each day.
    Today your hair is fair
    and your breasts are almost bare,
    for your body is the key that pays the
way.
     
    He sang slowly, in a clear, well-modulated
voice such that every word was perfectly audible to the Ice
Princess and her guests. The Princess stood on the daïs rigid, her
face white and set. The guests began to mutter. Coalhole ignored
them and continued singing, waving in a little extra bite from the
Elephant Tusk Horn Section;
     
    I grieve for you, my Princess,
    safe within your cloud of incense
    where you never see the world that's going
round.
    You'd rather take a bath
    than walk the endless winding path
    to where the Roller Coaster Road can be
found.
     
    The muttering turned into uproar, with
guests shouting and brandishing their fists. The guards from the
main door advanced on the stage, called in by the irate
Princess.
    Suddenly the singer chopped his hand through
the air and the song finished abruptly; on an ill-fitting,
expectant note. It caught the attention of the guests and the
ballroom went quiet. The guards paused and looked to the Princess
for guidance; but she had left.
    In the momentary silence,
Coalhole Custer's voice carried clearly to all parts of the crowded
room: “For you, my friends; drunk, drugged, satiated; occult-ridden
in the endless hunt for happiness, I give PANDORA’S BOX ”.
    He raised his guitar high in the air and
struck a chord that dug deep into the marrow of the watchers'
bones, freezing them like a charmer his snake. The sound lingered,
as though resonating within the guests. There was something
peculiar, almost purposeful, in the manner of its going.
    Then the band echoed it, in a wild soaring
run of theme and variations that streamed among the spellbound
guests like a plague of spiders, spinning its web of music to hold
them entranced, and captive before the stage. And on this
foundation the musicians layered yet more music until the whole
palace trembled in a desperate attempt to contain the ever-rising
crescendo of sound. Then they stopped. The sudden silence was
almost unbearable.
    Somewhere a window shattered, splintering
and tinkling to the polished floor of the ballroom. Its faint
echoes accentuated the silence. Then Coalhole Custer began to sing,
the ‘Half Ton of Nutty Slack' filling in behind him to build
complex, subtle patterns of strange and oppressive music. It seemed
to permeate the very fabric of the palace, reaching out through the
walls as though to escape, and Coalhole Custer sang:
     
    You take the path to Wonderland
    Through the door marked forty-nine
    Where the werewolves lope in moonlight
    Through the snows within your mind
    And the vampires rise to swallow you
    In the land of unknown time ---
    You'll never hide away from what is true
    For the images reflect what lies in you
     
    Another window broke at the far end of the
ballroom and some plaster rattled down off the wall. The music was
throbbing heavily now, weird and vaguely out of control. It began
to pound at the walls and pierce the windows, trying to break its
way out. But Coalhole Custer sang on:
     
    When spiders crawl across your eyes
    And your limbs begin to shake
    When snakes swim through your daylight
    From the darkness of their lake
    When reality is doubtful
    Will you know which path to take ---
    You'll never hide away from what is true
    For the images reflect what lies in you
     
    As he sang, oblivious to all around him, his
strange music filled the ballroom like an alien entity. It crept
into every crack and carving; it ran along the exquisitely moulded
lines of plaster that covered the high ceiling; it swirled around
the paintings, the icons, the graven images.
    Wherever its delicate fingers probed, it
drew out resident demons; sucked them from their