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Ghost of Le Moulin
Ghost of Le Moulin
Between Fabrezan to Tournasay
where the cruel Cers wind blows,
Lie’s maison le Moulin
amongst the wine groves.
Every year on certain night
you can hear a child calling,
twould cause a fright,
She’s the Ghost of le Moulin.
The villagers all know it
and a man with a gun,
spent the night there
but didn’t he run.
It’s hairy and scary
a mystery to boot,
now I’m a ghost hunter
who’s after some loot.
You can drink pastis
in le Grand cafe
but, disturb a ghost
and you wilt pay.
Breaking almonds
in a Breton cap,
for sweet nougatine
wilt bait the trap.
With lantern held high
a crucifix too,
I’ll pray fer the saints
and Jesus the Jew.
Regarde the Ghost of le Moulin,
pretty girl with evil eyes,
pock marked face
hear her cries....!
“Here’s some rope ta hang ye bye
silly old man soon ta die,
I’ll eat ya sweets, wear ya Breton cap,
I’m the Ghost of Le Moulin”.
Between Fabrezan to Tournasay
where the cruel Cers wind blows,
Lies maison le Moulin
amongst the wine groves.
Fabrezan, south of France, October 09
Copyright ©
Carrington Marshall
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