in the Sky
John A. Tvedtnes
Sung to the tune of
"Ghost Riders in the Sky"
An old author went rambling on
one dark and stormy night.
Upon his chair he rested as he thought what he could write.
When all at once a mighty horde of spirits he did spot
A-typin' on their old keyboards until the keys were hot.
Smith-Corona, Mac, IBM.
Ghost writers in the sky.
He tried to ask their names, but
they just kept on punchin' keys.
They didn't look up from their work until they heard him sneeze.
The paper flew around the room and landed on the floor.
And then he heard a booming sound, a knock upon his door.
The door flew open with the wind, a
stranger stepped inside.
He pulled a letter from the pouch a-hangin' by his side.
"I've got a message for you from the Editor on High.
Your life has been rejected from that place up in the sky."
The writer clutched his heart as he
fell dead upon the floor.
His eyes glazed over; it was plain he'd not write any more.
No TV rights, no paperbacks, no screenplays he would see.
No Pulitzer or Nobel prize, no Oscar or Emmy.