Morbid Children......

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My elementary school librarian used to read us some stories during Halloween from "Scary Stories to tell in the Dark". A very creepy book if you're young. It scared me so much I bought it (when I was a kid) and read the whole thing.

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Yeh,I have those books,there are actually 3 in the set I believe..the stories are mostly urban legend type tales,and some are folklore from various countries. I used to love them when I was a kid cause they scared the crap out of me(who doesn't love that feeling of being truly scared? I miss that,it's been a looong time)
Also the illustrations are really creepy (and beautifully done,I think) I plan to read them to my daughter when she's old enough to appreciate them.

oddly enough I was just thinking about that book Scary Stories today and wanting to get it.

here's one that we sang in elementry school music class that i remembered (lyrics found online.)

"Have you seen the ghost of Tom?
All white bones with the flesh all gone.
Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
Wouldn't you be chilly without skin on?"

also there was this book that my geman grandma had that was about kids learning lessons by having fucked up shit happen to them. some of them were mild, like one was a kid that always looked into the sky and one day he fell into a puddle of water. but some of them the kids died or got mutilated. and it had creepy painted pictures. I don't remember the name of it cuz it was in german, but I'll ask her about it next time I see her.

edit: actually I think it might be the book that vixta posted.

check out this book, its fukn great
http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/...056518374_.jpg
you can get it through most comic shops and a few online places

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Originally Posted by vixta

the version of ring a roses i sang as a kid was:
ring a ring a roses
a pocket full of posies
atishoo atishoo
we all fall down

ashes in the water
ashes in the sea
atishoo atishoo
we all rise again

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Actually, the real version is pretty morbid too:

Ring around the Rosie
Pocket full of Posies
Ashes, Ashes.
We all fall down.

It was written about the plague and basically is about everyone dying of it and their bodies being burned. So...yeah, I'd say that's pretty morbid.

My teddy bear is on the telephone
He tells me the operater has gone quite mad
The trans-dimensional bills are killing me
Or so the mailman says

The Gipper is on the tube
The devil is in the news
Gravity is at the door
And sanity is on the floor

I fell into the naked corner
It took all my friends to pull me out
The after-birth lies on the floor
But don't worry
Teddy will eat it up

If you didn't know the Gipper refers to Ronald Reagen, needless to say I wrote this along time ago.
I don't think I'll be sharing it with my children, but this seemed an o.k. spot for it.

Man. I missed out on all these :( but I feel I've made up some lost childhood!

I remember the ashes version I don't remeber the atishoo bit though

there's a book written by susan pearson and illustrated by gris grimly called "grimericks" full of poems, and gris grimly also wrote a couple of books (i forget what they're called now) that take "normal" nursery rhymes and make them morbid. It has great illustrations, too.

well... there quite a few... i know more about stories that rhymes...

other than the previously mentioned, there was... "Who Killed Cock Robin?"

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,
with my little eye,
I saw him die.
Who caught his blood?
I, said the Fish,
with my little dish,
I caught his blood.
Who'll make the shroud?
I, said the Beetle,
with my thread and needle,
I'll make the shroud.
Who'll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,
with my pick and shovel,
I'll dig his grave.
Who'll be the parson?
I, said the Rook,
with my little book,
I'll be the parson.
Who'll be the clerk?
I, said the Lark,
if it's not in the dark,
I'll be the clerk.
Who'll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,
I'll fetch it in a minute,
I'll carry the link.
Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
I mourn for my love,
I'll be chief mourner.
Who'll carry the coffin?
I, said the Kite,
if it's not through the night,
I'll carry the coffin.
Who'll bear the pall?
We, said the Wren,
both the cock and the hen,
We'll bear the pall.
Who'll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
as she sat on a bush,
I'll sing a psalm.
Who'll toll the bell?
I said the bull,
because I can pull,
I'll toll the bell.
All the birds of the air
fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
when they heard the bell toll
for poor Cock Robin.
While the cruel Cock Sparrow,
The cause of their grief,
Was hung on a gibbet
Next day, like a thief.

and even "Alouette" thought not about death, is pretty gruesome if you think about cheerful the song this children's song is about dismembering an animal...

Alouette, gentille Alouette
Skylark, nice skylark
Alouette, je te plumerai
Skylark, I shall pluck you
Je te plumerai la tête
I shall pluck your head
(Je te plumerai la tête)
(I shall pluck your head)
Et la tête
And your head
(Et la tête)
(And your head)
Alouette
Skylark
(Alouette)
(Skylark)
O-o-o-oh
Alouette, gentille Alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai
Je te plumerai le bec
I shall pluck your beak
(Je te plumerai le bec)
Et le bec
(Et le bec)
Et la tête
(Et la tête)
Alouette
(Alouette)
O-o-o-oh
The song continues in this fashion, with the italicized phrase (a part of the bird) in each verse being substituted with a new one, with the previous items being recited at the end:

Et le cou
And your neck

Et le dos
And your back

Et les ailes
And your wings

Et les pattes
And your feet

And tons of tales... *points to the above mentioned Brothers Grimm*

but the two my mom used to sing these with me when i was kid, when i would start complaining or acting bad...

one is "A Soalin'" it is generally played with dulcimer and sung in minor keys in rounds... it's about finding joy even in the poorest of times...

The most popular version of it was done in the 60's by Peter Paul and Mary, but it originated in the Elizabethian times... as weird as that is... my mom hated their version of it, because it's been passed down in the family for generations with a different variation...

Hey ho, nobody home, meat nor drink nor money have I none
Yet shall we be merry, hey ho, nobody home.
Hey ho, nobody home, meat nor drink nor money have I none
Yet shall we be merry, hey ho, nobody home.
Hey ho, nobody home.

Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry,
One for peter, two for paul, three for him who made us all.

God bless the master of this house, and the mistress also
And all the little children that round your table grow.
The cattle in your stable and the dog by your front door
And all that dwell within your gates
We wish you ten times more.

Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry,
One for peter, two for paul, three for him who made us all.

Go down into the cellar and see what you can find
If the barrels are not empty we hope you will be kind
We hope you will be kind with your apple and strawber’
For we’ll come no more a ’soalin’ till this time next year.

Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry,
One for peter, two for paul, three for him who made us all.

The streets are very dirty, my shoes are very thin.
I have a little pocket to put a penny in.
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’ penny will do.
If you haven’t got a ha’ penny then God bless you.

Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry,
One for peter, two for paul, three for him who made us all.

Now to the lord sing praises all you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace..
This holy tide of christmas of beauty and of grace,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.

the other was "Sam Hall" (another folklore tune that was sung... though Johnny Cash later did a version of it... this was based on a serial killing chimney sweep from England, I believe...)

Now my name is Samuel Hall,
Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall
Oh my name is Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall
Oh my name is Samuel Hall,
and I hate you one and all
You're a bunch of mucker's all
Blast your eyes.
You're a bunch of mucker's all
Blast your eyes.

Now I killed a man they said
So they said, so they said
Oh I killed a man they said
Yes they said
I killed a man they said
And I left him layin dead
Cause I bashed his bloody head
Blast his eyes.
Caused I bashed his bloody head
Blast his eyes.

Now they put me in the quad
In the quad, In the quad
Oh they put me in the quad, in the quad
Oh they put me in the quad
and they left me there by God
Fastened to a bloody chain rod
Blast there eyes.
Fastened to a bloody chain rod
Blast there eyes.

Now the preacher he did come
He did come, he did come
Oh the preacher he did come he did come
Oh the preacher he did come
And he looked so doggone glum
As he talked of Kingdom Come
Blast his eyes.
As he talked of Kingdom Come
Blast his eyes.

And the sheriff he come too
He come too, he come too
Oh the sheriff he come too he come too
Oh the sheriff he come too
With his yellow boys and blue
Sayin Sam I'll see you through
Blast your eyes.
Sayin Sam I'll see you through
Blast your eyes.

Oh it's up the rope I go I go I go
It's up the rope I go I go
Oh it's up the rope I go
While you critters down below
Are sayin Sam I told you so
Blast your eyes.
Are sayin Sam I told you so
Blast your eyes.

Oh it's swingin I must go
I must go I must go
It's a swingin I must go, I must go
It's a swingin I must go
Just because she loved him so
Just because she loved him so
Blast her eyes.
Just because she loved him so
Blast her eyes.

I must hang until I'm dead
Til I'm dead, Til I'm dead
I must hang until I'm dead
I must hang until dead
Caused I killed a man they said
And left him layin dead
Blast his eyes.
And left him layin dead
Blast his eyes.

The Insect God

O what has become of Millicent Frastley?
Is there any hope that she's still alive?
Why haven't they found her? It's rather ghastly
To think that the child was not yet five.

The dear little thing was last seen playing
Along by herself at the edge of the park;
There was no one with her to keep her from straying
Away in the shadows and oncoming dark.

Before she could do so, a silent and glittering
Black motor drew up where she sat nibbling grass;
From within came a nearly inaudible twittering,
A tiny green face peered out through the glass.

She was ready to flee, when the figure beckoned;
An arm with two elbows held out a tin
Full of cinnamon balls; she paused; a second
Reached out as she took one, and lifted her in.

The nurse was discovered collapsed in some shrubbery,
But her reappearance was not much use;
Her eyes were askew, he extremities rubbery,
Her clothing was stained with a brownish juice.

She was questioned in hopes of her answers revealing
What had happened; she merely repeatedly said
'I hear them walking about on the ceiling'.
She had gone irretrievably out of her head.

O feelings of horror, resentment, and pity
For things, which so seldom turn out for the best;
The car, unobserved, sped away from the city
As the last of the light died out in the west.

The Frastleys grew sick with apprehension,
Which a heavy tea only served to increase;
Though they felt it was scarcely genteel to mention
The loss of their child, they called in the police.

Through unvisited hamlets the car went creeping,
With its head lamps unlit and its curtains drawn;
Those natives who happened not to be sleeping
Heard it pass, and lay awake until dawn.

The police with their torches and notebooks descended
On the haunts of the underworld, looking for clues;
In spite of their praiseworthy efforts, they ended
With nothing at all in the way of news.

The car, after hours and hours of travel,
Arrived at a gate in an endless wall;
It rolled up a drive and stopped on the gravel
At the foot of a vast and crumbling hall.

As the night wore away, hope started to languish
And soon was replaced by all manner of fears;
The family twisted their fingers in anguish,
Or got them all damp from the flow of their tears.

They removed the child to the ball-room, whose hangings
And mirrors were streaked with a luminous slime;
They leapt through the air with buzzings and twangings
To work themselves up to a ritual crime.

They stunned her, and stripped off her garments, and lastly
They stuffed her inside a kind of a pod;
And then it was that Millicent Frastley
Was sacrificed to The Insect God.

-- Edward Gorey

http://www.goreyography.com/west/west.htm