Here comes Peter Cotton Steele

Here comes Peter Cotton Steele, Walking down the crypt-side hill, Got his boots and gothic coat, Singing songs that make you chill. Brooding in the candlelight, Hair as black as vampire night, He was tall and bold and grim— Played the bass and sang like sin. Oh, he rocked the stage so loud, Made the mortals scream and bow, But then one day the label said, “We’re done with this sad sound now!” Now he’s Peter Cottontail, Carrying a chimney pail, Wiping soot off kids’ iPads, Wishing goth was still in style. He once sang of doom and love, Now he’s scraping ash above, Sweeping flues from 10 to 3— Still dressed like it's Halloween. He hums “Christian Woman” slow, While the fireplace starts to glow, Used to headline shows at night— Now he’s got that sweepin’ flow! So if your chimney’s full of grime, Call him up—it’s Steele time, Peter’s got that gothic flair, Even covered up in air. Yes, it’s Peter Cotton Steele, With a brush and dark appeal— From the stage to soot and flame, He still signs autographs… just the same.