The Olde Shoppe Bell

Written by: Michael Smith

I hear the bell like ex-wives voices nagging
Hanging,beneath the olde shoppe door ringing
When someone enters through
They have and I do 
A swift little dance and a more ridiculous jig
To that stupid and silly sounding thing

Every time I hear it, it echoes in my head 
As if far fetched fantasies 
An ominous figure the tiny brass is introducing
In the black trench coat to appear instead
Along with hat that eclipses his face
There he'll be, standing 
Eyeing all from beyond his place

Patrons inside slow turn in sync trembling in fear
As if death were choosing its next victim "right here"
It wouldn't be long before I could no longer hold on
From hysterics and laughter outward and in directions forthwith 

Toward the harbinger announcments of cruel intentions 
As the next candidate bound on hell train's transportion
And beneath the door prodding sounds once more
That stupid bell again starts ringing
And I'd think to myself " surely no angel has gotten their wings"
So under my breath laughing, then jump heel clicking, dancing a more ridiculous jig