THE REAL MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE
By: Hill/Jantsang/Marsh - 1985
Few can
remember the day and year
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
'Twas the
sixteenth of April in seventy-five,
When the first acts of mating were done
and did thrive.
They sprang from the ocean with one thing in mind:
To
meld with their Nation the blood of mankind.
The day was auspicious, the day
of the Feast,
They joyfully praised the name of the Priest
Who was
of their minions and first saw the Sign
That was of great favor to those of
their kind;
To spring forth with fervor and gleefully mix,
With yokel
and farmer and burgher and hicks.
Now Paul was from Boston, and though
of the Clan,
He thought in his folly that he was a man;
For none of his
kinfolk were eager to brag,
But spoke in low whispers about the old hag
That
grand-dad had married and kept on the sly,
Until he no longer was able to
lie.
She bore twenty children and each had her mark:
The gills of the
fish, the strength of a shark.
One day she was gone, the ocean had beckoned,
Her brood passed around, as fortune had reckoned;
Young Paul had been
raised by a cranky step-mother
Who never made mention to him of his brothers,
Or of the old dame that he'd never see,
Or the strength of the blood
or the Call of the sea.
'Twas on this night then, the night of their Feast,
That Paul had espied a mob on the beach.
Thinking them Red Coats, towards
town with dispatch,
He hastened to warn of the British to catch;
But as
he rode quickly and drew close to town,
His horse took a stumble and tossed
to the ground.
He thus had to wander on foot into town,
And got there
just as the mob drew around;
The Priest gave a cry, the mob fell with glee
To slaughter the men-folk, but they let Paul be.
'Twas then that the
Call in Paul, formerly latent,
Exploded in full, his instincts now blatant:
He charged in howling like an afreet,
'Till all of the men-folk lay dead
in the street.
With no one to stop the grand melee,
The Deep Ones pounced
on their helpless prey,
Storming the cottages, houses, all:
As reeds in
a tempest, the town was to fall.
Dragging the maids to the village square
Held by their arms or their wrists or hair,
Once in the courtyard there
was no respite
For the toys of the fish-folk the rest of the night.
Screaming
and weeping, frozen with fright,
The girls all a-tremble trust not in their
sight
That such folks as these were loose in their town,
Or that their men-folk
were not to be found.
And they at the mercy of fish-men from Hell,
A
croaking frog-babble, a terrible smell.
Ever forward! Never retreat!
Thundering
hither on wide-webbed feet.
Foraging forward, six-hundred strong,
A rampaging,
frothing, lusting throng,
Pillaging houses, forest and glen:
Taking more
women and killing more men.
Leaving a wake of damage and waste,
In flopping,
bleating, hopping haste,
Scouring country, marsh, and glade
For nubile lasses,
spinster or maid,
'Till none of the women who had not yet been
With one
or more of the thronging frog-men.
Stomach to stomach, a powerful wave,
The
women discovered what all fish-men crave.
None could resist them, none could
escape
Their furious pillaging, looting and rape.
Ten minutes of passion,
the deed was then done,
They'd finish their purpose and choose the next one.
Almost
'till morning the orgy did rage,
Each woman was taken regardless of age.
The
passion abated, their seed widely sown,
They swam silently back to a homeland
unknown.
The women got over the violence and crime
And knew they'd be
mothers when it became time.
So thus begotten the first of their Race,
That
shortly would flourish with Innsmouth their base
For all future actions
to further their line,
And finally mix with and out-breed mankind.
Thus
is the future, thus will it be:
The men of the Earth will be men of the Sea.
Now all of you readers who have been well-schooled:
Did the history you learned of Revere have you fooled?
For this is the truth, not told to another:
I should know best for I am his mother!