A Boy and His Gods
copyright ©2000 by Blind Lemming Chiffon
Tune: A Boy and His Frog, Tom Smith
They tell me I'm made in God's image,
But so many things are unknown.
I tried to believe, but I couldn't,
So I made up a few of my own.
There was Mi-Go, the Fungi from Yuggoth,
Plus Night-Gaunts and Shoggoths galore,
Shub-Niggurath, Yog Sothoth, Tsathaggua,
The Deep Ones, the Elders and more.
Where would they be without me to invent them?
Creation of Gods is an art.
How would you know of them had I not sent them
To strike terror deep in your heart?
Azathoth, Chaugnar Faugn and Cthulhu:
The head of Nyarlathotep nods.
In my own time and place I made up a great race:
H.P. Lovecraft, a boy and his Gods.
The stories were gathered in cheap magazines:
I died three years before the first book.
"The Outsider and Others" didn't sell very well,
Because nobody wanted to look.
But my friends kept the mystery going,
August Derleth and Clark Ashton Smith.
I think that they knew it was all somehow true,
That the Mythos was not just a myth.
There were many whose writing was better,
Whose prose had no purplish glint,
But most of them now are forgotten,
While my books are always in print.
Yes, it seems I'm a well-known writer,
And R'lyeh is a popular town,
Even though it rests under an ocean . . .
Guess you can't keep the Ancient Ones down.
My Gods will live on long as people still fear them,
And there's one more thing they can give:
The beat of your pulse is what makes me immortal:
As long as you're frightened, I'll live.
So for those who prefer Star Trek's Sulu,
With you I am always at odds:
You're soon to be eaten by Cthulhu:
He is near.
We're all still here.
This boy and his Gods.