The Highwaytom
by Kalliroscope
Based on a poem by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The Jellicle moon was a ghost ship tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And Macavity came riding
Riding, riding
Macavity came riding up to the old Junkyard.
He'd a yak hair wig on his forehead, a spiked collar at his chin
A unitard of red and ginger, just to begin
It fitted with never a wrinkle, his leg warmers were up to the thigh
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle
His collar spikes a-twinkle
His sharp long claws a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark Junkyard
And he tapped with his claw on the old car, but all was locked and barred
He whistled a tune to the window and who should be waiting there
But the Jellicle's amber-eyed daughter
Dem the Jellicle's daughter
Plaiting a dark-red loveknot into her short brown hair
"One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light
But if they press me sharply and harry me through the day
Then look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight though Bast should bar the way."
He rose upright in his stirrups; he scarce could reach her paw
But she loosened her fur in the casement; his face burnt like a brand
As the red cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight (oh sweet black waves in the moonlight)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight
And galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning, he did not come at noon
And out of the tawny sunset before the rise of the Jellicle moon
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor
A Jellicle troop came marching
Marching, marching
Old Deut's toms came marching up to the old Junkyard
They said no word to the Jellicle; they drank his cream instead
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed
Two of them knelt in the old car with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window
And Hell at one dark window
For Dem could see through the windshield the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention with many a sniggering jest
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her
She heard the dead tom say
Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though Bast should bar the way!
She twisted her paws behind her but all the knots held good
She writhed her paws till her sharp claws were wet with sweat or blood
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years
Till now on the stroke of midnight
Cold on the stroke of midnight
The tip of one sharp claw touched it! The trigger, at least, was hers
Tlot, tlot! had they heard it? The horse-hooves were ringing clear
Tlot tlot in the distance; were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill
Macavity came riding
Riding, riding
The Jellicles looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came, and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath!
Then her claw, it moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket; drenched in her own red blood
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Dem the Jellicle's daughter
The Jellicle's amber-eyed daughter
Had watched for her love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there.
Back he spurred like a madtom; shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his clawed paw held up high
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine red was his long-haired coat
When they shot him down on the highway
Down like a Pol on the highway
And he lay in his blood in the highway! With a spiked collar at his throat.
Still of a winters night they say, when the wind is in the trees
When the Jellicle Moon is a ghost ship tossed upon the cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
Macavity comes riding!
Riding, riding!
Macavity comes riding up to the old junkyard!