Tone Shift: I Am Stretched On Your Grave

I am the product of my parents. By this, I mean to say that two songwriters--one who used to write the deep blues as a torch singer for bars, and one who used to write upbeat love ballads--got together and collaborated on my life. I got many things from them, including a deep appreciation for music, higher-than-average attention to lyrical content, and a really twisted sense of humor.

Occasionally I will be going about my day while my Spotify playlist courses through my earbuds, when a well-worn song will suddenly undergo a complete tone shift in my head. One such instance occurred recently, and I would like to inflict it on you.

First, please take a moment listen to this lovely, slightly macabre tragedy as the steam punk band Abney Park intended it to be heard.

Apparently this is an old Irish poem that many have set to music. By degrees this beautiful tale unfolds the image of childhood sweethearts who married, but the wife has died and the husband may never recover. Abney Park's steampunk sound lends a properly sinister undertone to the tale, hinting even at possibly worse to come after the camera fades out.

But, you see, I also grew up reading Calvin & Hobbes.

Calvin is a slightly morbid 6 year old with boundless imagination. And recently, when I heard I Am Stretched On Your Grave, an entirely different scenario popped into my head.

I am stretched on your grave
And will lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
My apple tree, my brightness
It's time we were together
For I smell of the Earth
And am worn by the weather

I see a young boy, possibly Calvin, lying outside on the ground. It has to be a home away from the city, where there's huge areas of field and forest very close to the house. He lies there, dramatically declaiming the death of his imaginary wife, weaving the story of their life together. Perhaps, not ready to finish playing at the end of the day, he even sneaks out his bedroom window to continue the game.

When my family thinks
That I'm safely in my bed
From mornin' till night
I am stretched at your head
Calling out to the air
With tears both hot and wild
For the loss of the girl
I loved as a child

Now, clearly some lyrics don't fit. I don't think a six year old would be talking about the girl's maidenhead and doing what was right, but the rest of it completely fits. Especially when you imagine the angry Mom storming out to reclaim him. As she does, he narrates quite loudly,

The priests and the friars
Approach me in dread
For I love you still
My wife, and you're dead
I still will be your shelter
Through rain and through storm
And with you in your cold grave
I cannot sleep warm

The mother insists, of course, and tries to pick him up off the ground, at which point he starts yelling at the top of his lungs,

I am stretched on your grave
And will lie there FOREVER

The hapless child, however, is no match for the mother, who drags him back to bed. If said child is anything like Calvin, he will begin plotting his necromancer story arc before falling asleep and dreaming of how he will ravage the town with an undead army lead by his newly raised wife as general.

Now, a second time, please enjoy I Am Stretched On Your Grave by Abney Park.