The Curse Of Elmo James

The cursed Elmo James

There was a man born to the sinners,

his name was Elmo James,

on the day they christened him,

the church burned down in flames.

The priest was found in a pile of ash,

his hands still clenched in prayer.

His mother swore he was heaven’s sent,

He was really of smoke and sin.

The neighbors whispered, crossed themselves,

Yet still let the boy walk in.

His eyes were black as an open grave,

and his smile was razor thin.

The crops died quick when he came of age,

the river ran thick with mud.

A preacher came to cast him out,

Sadly he choked on his own blood.

And Elmo stood there, quiet and still,

just watching, like he knew.

They hanged him when he turned eighteen,

roped tight to the old oak tree.

The wind went still, the sky turned red,

and the crows refused to flee.

But when they came to cut him down,

there was nothing left to see.

Now midnight brings his shadow back,

where the old burnt chapel stands.

His laughter rides the howling wind,

a curse upon the land