Hmm. I can’t explain where this came from.

In the far off land that’s known as Calibar
There lived an ancient king called Balthasar
Who lived on moldy bread and stale cigars
And played all day upon a blue guitar

He played guitar and sang a stupid song
He screeched and screamed and went on
much, much much, much, much, much too long
It never stopped it just went on and on and on and on and on
His voice was bad, but it was really strong

His voice was like a flock of quacking ducks
Or a thousand screeching, screaming fire trucks
Or slimy creatures moaning in the muck
The folks of Calibar were really stuck

Oh the old king Balthasar
From the land of Calibar
He played upon his blue guitar
And lived on bread and stale cigars

All day and night, old Balthasar would sing
The blue guitar poured music from its strings
A horrid noise, but no one said a thing
Because, now don’t forget, he was the king

He sang for days, for weeks and months and years
The people moaned and covered up their ears
“He’ll never stop,” they said, “And we’ll all die, we fear”
They sobbed and wept and cried into their beers

Oh the old king Balthasar
From the land of Calibar
He played upon his blue guitar
And lived on bread and stale cigars

‘Til one day he got up from his bed
“Bring me my guitar” the old king said
He strummed the strings and shook his graying head
And then the ancient king fell over dead

They called and brought the doctors from afar
To see what killed the king of Calibar
The doctors said “It’s really quite bizarre
He died from moldy bread and stale cigars

The queen of Balthasar was quite bereaved
The folks of Calibar all sobbed and grieved
They cried and wiped their noses with their sleeves
Though secretly they all were quite relieved

Oh the old king Balthasar
From the land of Calibar
He played upon his blue guitar
And died from bread and stale cigars

(The end!)

© Bill Harley, all rights reserved. Reprints with permission only.