lirik lagu the lighthouse keeper’s bicycle – doggerel bank
oh the lighthouse keeper’s bicycle
was covered with rust and mud
the rattles were indescribable
it shuddered from hub to hub
but twice a day, he peddled the track
five miles there and five miles back
through hurricane, storm and ice
until he sat in the village pub, pub, pub
the lighthouse keeper’s bicycle
leans on the lighthouse wall
near the neat little whitewashed vestibule
at the base of the tower so tall
the m*ffled cannon in the caves
the organ wind and the seagull’s cry
the baleful moan when the fogh*rn brays
and unknown ships edge warily by
they’re all the company he’ll get
until his lonely watch is done
then down he winds, stone step by step
and tests the back tyre with his thumb
oh the lighthouse keeper’s bicycle
was caked with salt and tar
the brakes, they were derisable
one mud guard swung ajar
but he beat up the track in the north wind’s t**th
with the handlebars reading north by east
through hurricane, storm and ice
until his fist closed round a jar, jar, jar
the lighthouse keeper’s bicycle’s
tied up at the harbour inn
in the parlour bar, he drinks his fill
of ale both thick and thin
there were tales to tell and as midnight neared
the tales grew taller and steeper
but the tallest tales they ever heared
were told by the lighthouse keeper
he told how each night he had to pass
a haunted farm whose ruins scarred
stood back from the sea on the lighthouse path
how a ghost stood always in the yard
all clad in white, a spectral hand he’d rear
the barroom chills, the listeners hug their fright
but the lighthouse keeper said he had no fear
and never failed to wish it a good night
his grave account impressed the simple jury
the silent smoke*filled parlour was aghast
but a sly one there who doubted the whole story
slipped out unseen and ran home very fast
he grabs a sheet, then quickly hies
off to the haunted house and waited there
he’d guessed the lighthouse keeper’s yarn a pack of lies
and planned a cruel shock to raise his hair
draped in the sheet, he stood, the moon shone eerily
a cold wind whistled round the ruined byres
meanwhile, the lighthouse keeper, singing beerily
was pumping up his patched and porous tyres
then he struck a match for his nice nickel*plated acetylene light
and clattered away on his bicycle into the depths of night
when he came by the farm now, what did he see?
’twas haunted for once, “oh ho” says he
here’s one that another’s leg tries to pull
h*llo, there’s two of you there tonight, good night, good night
the man leapt out of his skin almost
and fled before the wind
pursued by his sheets like an angry ghost
the lighthouse keeper grinned
now all this happened a long time ago
before i sowed any oats
the lighthouse keeper died, you know
and he joined all the spooks
and the spirits and the ghosts
and they tell the tale at the harbour inn
when the window shines like a lantern
across the bay where the waves pound in
of that terrible lighthouse phantom
’tis an ancient riderless bicycle
covered with rust and mud
as though hurled by a poltergeist
it’ll clatter over rocks and scrub
twice a night when the moon’s at its height
comes pelting down the lane with a rattle of chain
through hurricane, storm and ice
until it reaches the village pub, pub, pub, pub
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