Good evenin' Vicar. I must say
the flowers in church were grand today.
Yer sermon choice—it did inspire—
"Gomorrah's sins"—had me on fire!
It's been so long since I were 'ere—
I think it were about ten year
ago that we last met—
and parted then in such a fret!
What's that you say? You can't quite place me?
Come over 'ere where you can face me!
Turn yer eyes so you can see—
I'm sure you will remember me!
I aven't come 'ere to embarrass,
make a fuss or leave you 'arrassed.
It's Fred!—yer favourite organ player!
You used to say I had a way'er
playin' yer organ wi' such strokes
t' excite you more than other folks.
You did particularly favour
me 'emi-demi-semi quaver.
We'd sit n' play a grand duet
and even though we'd only met
a short while back we 'ad connection.
An' it did seem, upon reflection,
we played away in such a fashion
as to engender deepest passion.
Do you recall, you said "Now Fred
Our playing's got t' raise the dead!"
We'd start wi' somethin' to inspire
and belt our chorus from Messiah.
Then, to keep Satan bound in 'ell
we'd turn our playing to Ravel.
I was so sorry those days passed.
It were so good—it couldn't last.
I 'av to say—don't be offended
I weren't upset your marriage ended.
You took a wife beneath yerself—
She sucked you dry and wrecked yer 'ealth.
But when I 'eard she'd gone from 'ere
I soon began to feel all queer—
disturbed by ancient memories
of 'ow I tried so 'ard to please;
how I enjoyed your little ways
an' passed wi' you such bright, gay days.
Remember, Vicar, that last day?
She told you that she'd gone to stay
in Preston wi' 'er Auntie Mabel.
An' you concluded we'd be able
t'play Ravel wi'out disruption—
Bolero wi' no interruption!
We stole in't church and lit a candle
wi'out a thought for causin' scandal.
We sat by organ—stretched out arms,
hit highest notes wi'out no qualms.
The sound rose up, the music roared—
you fell t' knees to praise the Lord.
Then you said "Fred, just stop right there—
a thought 'as come to me in prayer.
To feel Bolero in your roots
You've got to take off 'ob nail boots."
I said "Now Vicar, I'm inspired—
yer prayer has got me truly fired.
An' just to show that I'm no prude
I'll play Bolero in the nude!
It's nothin' like we've done before—
I'll show you Talent in the raw!"
I stripped off kit, sat in the buff.
You thought me Talent good enough
when you could see the real me
to lift our souls to ecstasy.
But as you dropped back on yer knees
I 'appened to be caught wi' sneeze.
An' overcome wi' reflex action,
'eck! I caused you some distraction.
Me 'ed flew back, me thighs, they parted
wi' force enough to wake Departed!
It thrust me Talent in your face
an' interrupted state o' grace.
Me Talent gave you such a clout,
it made you faint and knocked you out!
It were an innocent mistake—
I didn't know that I would break
your nose and make the bugger bleed.
There was just one way to proceed—
I 'ad to gi' you kiss o' life—
But at that moment your dear wife
appeared an' saw me 'oldin' organ!
An' standing there wi' face like Gorgon
banished me from church that day
'an said I 'ad to stay away.
But now she's gone I think it's clear
there's no one left to interfere.
Plug in your kettle—get some steam up
—'ave some tea—see what we'll dream up!
An' if you'd like to play some more
I'll come again—but use back door!