This is the End of Solomon Grundy
Solomon Grundy - Nineteenth Century Nursery Rhyme
Listen to this poem in song format at:
This is the End of S Grundy
Seven days with Solomon Grundy,
Til we dug his grave on a Sunday
And I grew up thinking that he lived a week
I wake up to his birth on a Monday,
And walk the week for Solomon Grundy
White noise can’t take him away,
I see him every day
In maternity wards at hospitals,
Funeral parlors and wedding chapels
I see him
A short life marked by landmark beacons
Well, I was born on a Sunday,
And bred to the tune of Solomon Grundy
I am the same as he in his nineteenth century
Bound by your skeletal axis
And genetic legislation
You didn’t write the rules - You are the hapless illustration
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.
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