Have you heard the tale of Lord Gusstaff and all the good things he did ?
Did you hear in his chambers ,
or the choristers of the night ,
how he charmed the ladies ,
how they flocked to his side ?
His moustache was long and elegant ,
so dashing for the time .
Now every door was open when he passed by ,
and white flowers of the day were placed where every pritty he lay in the long dark reaches of the night .
For when the birds began to sing ,
their tones pitch perfect would sing just for him ,
just for Gusstaff. the good .
The ladies pouted like flamingos all around ,
his tales of bravery they listened and were captivated by his stare .
For his eyes were dark ,
his manor took wind to their sail .
How Nobel were his deeds ,
and loving and bold ,
not once were his lovers bitter ,
or cold .
Then one night ,
the bells fell silent ,
and the wind whistled as if in silent prayer ,
a vesper of the night ,
Gusstaff lay dying in a field of war his white shirt stained in blood ,
His dying words how brave ,
how brave ,
Leave a white flower for the ladies ,
to each one ,
let them place a flower in my grave ,
for where the petunia grows his love still flows ,
and flamingo s still surround them ,
and ladies weep their hearts forever fountains,
In memorials to Gusstaff the good .
Take heed then as the Fox makes Love in the night ,
Vixens will follow ,
and his ghost still screams out for love.