The lonely Inn across the Lonely Moor.

 I came across a lonely Inn across a lonely Moor,
The clientèle were weird as hell so I legged it for the door.
I made it to the threshold,
the air inside was cold.
Mine host appeared in front of me, a pale skinny chap,
upon his bony head he wore a raggedy worn cap.
"Stay my friend," he said, with a leering smile;
If only I could have squeezed passed him I'd have done a minute mile.

 As I went back to the bar the customers watched intently.
One of them muttered something about a hearse being a luxurious Bentley.
What is this place I thought to myself; not daring to ask.
Then I overheard some muttered words where someone mentioned an ornate cask.
The barmaid was not a pretty lass, with hair all frizzy and thin.
She stared at me with glassy eyes and knocked back a double Gin.
"What do you want to drink?" she asked, in a haunting voice.
"A pint of bitter please", I answered, thinking I had no choice.

 The beer was good, the company bad, the atmosphere  was chilly
I Thought 'what made me come in here you are a silly, Gillie!'
The door blew open with a crash, leaves and stuff blew in,
whirling round across the floor, like swirling down a sink.
A tall bedraggled man appeared wielding a long scythe,
'Aha,' he said, 'another one,DRUNK! and just about the size.'
My ulcer hurt, my head ached, my heart began to thump.
I looked up into  those empty sockets and fell down in a lump.
If you come across that lonely Inn across that lonely Moor,
meet us clientèle though weird as hell... With The Grim Reaper at the door'
Ha, ha HARRRRRRRRRRRR!

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