Aleksander Kopperud

“Commala-come-come
There’s a young man with a gun.
Young man lost his honey
When she took it on the run.

Commala-come-one!
She took it on the run!
Left her baby lonely
But he baby ain’t done.

Commala-come-coo
The wind’ll blow ya through.
Ya gotta go where ka’s wind blows ya
Cause there’s nothin else to do.

Commala-come-two!
Nothin else to do!
Gotta go where ka’s wind blows ya
Cause there’s nothin else to do.

Commala-come-key
Can you tell me what ya see?
Is it ghosts or just the mirror
That makes ya wanna flee?

Commala-come-three!
I beg ya, tell me!
Is it ghosts or just your darker self
That makes ya wanna flee?

Commala-come-ko
Whatcha doin at my do’?
If ya doan tell me now, my friend
I’ll lay ya on de flo’.

Commala-come-fo’!
I can lay ya low!
The things I’ve do to such as you
You never wanna know.

Commala-gin-jive
Ain’t it grand to be alive?
To look out on Discordia
When the Demon Moon arrives.

Commala-come-five!
Even when the shadows rise!
To see the world and walk the world
Makes ya glad to be alive.

Commala-mox-nix!
You’re in a nasty fix!
To take a hand in traitor’s glove
Is to grasp a sheaf of sticks!

Commala-come-six!
Nothing there but thorns and sticks!
When your find your hand in traitor’s glove
You’re in a nasty fix.

Commala-loaf-leaven!
They go to hell or up to heaven!
The the guns are shot and the fires hot,
You got to poke em in the oven.

Commala-come-seven!
Salt and yow’ for leaven!
Heat em up and knock em down
And poke em in the oven.

Commala-ka-kate
You’re in the hands of fate.
No matter if it’s real or not,
The hour groweth late.

Commala-come-eight!
The hour groweth late!
No matter what shade ya cast
You’re in the hands of fate.

Commala-me-mine
You have to walk the line.
When you finally get the thing you need
It makes you feel so fine.

Commala-come-nine!
It makes ya feel fine!
But if you’d have the thing you need
You have to walk the line.

Commala-come-ken
It’s the other one again.
You may know her name and face
But that don’t make her your friend.

Commala-come-ten!
She is not your friend!
If you let her get too close
She’ll cut you up again!

Commala-come-call
We hail the one who made us all,
Who made the men and made the maids,
Who made the great and small.

Commala-come-call!
He made us great and small!
And yet how great the hand of fate
That rules us one and all.

Commala-come-ki,
There’s a time to live and one to die.
With your back against the final wall
Ya gotta let the bullets fly.

Commala-come-ki!
Let the bullets fly!
Don’t ‘ee mourn for me, my lads
When it comes my day to die.

Commala-come-kass!
The child has come at last!
Sing your song, O sing it well,
The child has come to pass.

Commala-come-kass,
The worst has come to pass.
The Tower trembles on its ground;
The child has come at last.

Commala-come-come,
The battle’s now begun!
And all the foes of men and rose
Rise with the setting sun.”
― Stephen King, Song of Susannah