Said Simone - Malady

Down by the old cemetary where the presidents rot

Down by the tombstones beyond the moaning gates

Where the old men wait

Well-dressed and underground

Yes the black buzzards smile

Oh yes, the gates moan

Calling for me to rescue

They all weep into my bones

Summer dress.

Handsome smile

Lovers lips.

Ah her cure

The moans calling her to rescue

There she is, enter Simone

I swear we’re all there

Right there, we moan, calling her to rescue

«We pray you never leave us, our singing somber mistress,» they said