When I was a young boy, I pretended I had a job My daddy said, "Pretty woman, mama married into the mob" A dream one day I'd be living off this system for free The dreams come true, honey, welcome to my reality Asleep all day, and wake myself in the shadows (gotta get up, gotta get up) I've gotta catch that train by midnight for my- Night work, gotta do the night work Punch that clock, and break overnighters Night work, gotta do the night work Weekday nine to five shift is over I didn't have a penny, no, I couldn't cut a cheque with a blade I used to have the shakes, but now that booty getting me paid Asleep all day, but I break my back in the moonlight (never enough, it's never enough) I gotta cash that cheque by midnight for my- Night work, gotta do the night work Punch that clock, and break overnighters Night work, gotta do the night work Weekday nine to five shift is over Night work, gotta do the night work Punch that clock, and break overnighters Night work, gotta do the night work Weekday nine to five shift is over And when the whistle blows, and your body can't take it no more You got to keep on moving, remember, this is what you asked for Ni-ni-ni-ni-ni, ni-ni-ni-night work Ni-ni-ni, ni-ni-night work Night work, ah, night work Night work, ah, night work Night work, ah, night work Weekday nine to five shift is over

In the dissection of flesh and the sawing of bone I've coaxed confessions from the lips of the dead Postmortem scrutiny that has clinically shone The horrifying facts that would have never been said Unbosoming their secrets in the sickening results of their demise Stomaching these wretched human Riddles I carve, hack and slice Illuminating the dusty skeletons that lurk In closets, bones and entrails Enduring the ghastly visage of violent death In my forensic travails Whether in pieces or completely decomposed I asses with clinical indifference The remnants of a life which grisly circumstance has brought to this office Ensuring that truth shall endure after the flesh has crumbled and rotted away Elucidating atrocities and carnage The thankless job I perform day after day Persistent incisions that cut to the Quick are my stock in trade To scrutinize what remains of a life, Painstaking effort will have to be made At times both evidence and flesh are Profoundly encrypted and shred It can be murder to pry answers from the Mouths of the dead A gutted torso can pose a bevy of answerless questions to deliberate Probing with a scalpel I expose the morbid cavity that I now Must eviscerate Unlocking death's mysteries with my forceps, tweezers and saw Wringing revelations from a fibula, fossa or jaw Recording confessions that are uttered without making a sound From informants long dead that I've culled from the ground Beneath the pallid veil of cold flesh or Enshrouded in the shredded remains of a face Exhuming the truth is my occupation, no matter how decrepit its resting place Within the bowels of a Horribly mutilated corpse or a splattered brain Picking apart flesh and deceit 'til only the cold facts remain Dead men will tell tales if you know How to listen and learn Even when they've been stabbed, beaten, shot, hacked up and burned This morbid quest for knowledge is not without its rewards Much can be extrapolated from a decrepit infants gourd My bureau's a slab, my text is a corpse, and I've studied with sincere, ardent fervor And found that often man's inhumanity to man is all to well deserved

Stalk through hallowed headstones For notes and coin, trade flesh and bone Your eternal rest may, become nocturnal wrest The newly deceased, still bereaved Snatched from their peace, taken without leave Truncated repose, for the decomposed Adamantine clasp of the mortsafe The muddy bonds of earth Patent coffins do not vouchsafe Calm repose beneath the turf Stone walls do not a prison make Nor six feet of sod a grave Pray the lord your soul to take You'll need defenders of the... Graves' occupants, so dearly prized But to butcher, not to eulogize To rest they were laid Now sold under the blade Who turns the key to the mortsafe When the sexton stuffs his purse? Nightwatchmen cannot vouchsafe Calm repose beneath the turf Stone walls do not a prison make Nor six feet of sod a grave So pray the lord your soul to take You'll need defenders of the grave Defenders of the grave Hallmarks of this ghoulish age Defenders of the grave, defenders of the... Solo – Matthew Harvey Solo – Michael Burke Stone walls do not a prison make Nor shovels full of sod a grave So pray the lord your soul to take You'll need defenders of the grave Defenders of the grave Hallmarks of this ghoulish age Defenders of the grave Defenders of the... Grave