The Blue Lady

 

This is the tale of Mary Bolles who lived at Heath Old Hall

And died there in 1662 and was buried ‘neath the soil.

But still her spirit walked Heath Grove the story has been writ

Until conjured down into a hole that’s still called Bolles Pit.

The spell was not so powerful to keep her there for long

And soon the tales were told of the sound of her plaintive song

her spectral form drifting with the mist across the heath at night

Like a strange blue moth being drawn towards the light

 

She is the chill that comes with the falling of the night

She is the fear of shapes that drift outside the light

She is the sense of danger where the fallen angels lie

         She is the glimpse of something from the corner of your eye

 

For years her apparition had been seen now and again

Along the old coach road or the stretch of Kirkthorpe Lane

But lately she’s been drawn once more from her darkened lair

By the bright lights and the energy that surrounds the Easter fair

 

She is the chill that comes with each turn of the ferris wheel

She is the fear in the ghost train – not knowing what is real

She is the sense of danger as the dodgem cars collide

She is the glimpse of something from the corner of your eye

 

She cannot smell the popcorn and she cannot shed a tear

She can only draw upon the sense of pleasure and of fear

The ghost of the Blue Lady is a shadow on the wall

That may be something dangerous or not be there at all

 

She is the chill that comes with each turn of the ferris wheel

She is the fear in the ghost train – not knowing what is real

She is the sense of danger as the dodgem cars collide

         She is the glimpse of something from the corner of your eye

 

But do not dally when the grifter closes up his garish tent

Do not walk alone to catch the bus your money all been spent

Your friends all gone the stalls all closed the battery dead in your phone

For that is when old Mary Bolles will find you all alone

 

She is the chill that comes with the falling of the night

She is the fear of shapes that drift outside the light

She is the sense of danger where the fallen angels lie

         She is the glimpse of something from the corner of your eye