Interpret:

David Bowie

Album:

David Bowie

There's a little churchyard just along the way
It used to be Lambeth's finest array
Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths
Flowers all that jazz
Til the war come along
And someone dropped a bomb on the lot


And in this little yard
There's a little old man
With a little shovel
In his little bitty hand


He seems to spend all his days
Puffing fags and digging graves
He hates the reverend vicar 
And he lives all alone in his home
Ah-choo, excuse me
Please Mr. Gravedigger, don't feel ashamed
As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed
Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldn't care
If you found a golden locket 
Full of some girl's hair


And you put it in your pocket
God, it's pouring down
Her mother doesn't know 
About your sentimental joy
She thinks 
It's down below with the rest of her toys
And Ma wouldn't understand
 so I won't tell
So keep your golden locket 
All safely hid away in your pocket
Yes, Mr. GD, you see me every day
Standing in the same spot by a certain grave
Mary-Ann was only 10 and full of life 
And oh so gay


And I was the wicked man 
Who took her life away
Very selfish, oh God
No, Mr. GD, you won't tell
And just to make sure 
That you keep it to yourself
I've started digging holes myself
And this one here's for you
Lifted our girl
She apparently doesn't know of it
Hello misses
Thought she'd be a little girl
Bloody obscene
Catch pneumonia or something in this rain