Two Earthquake Songs
Words & Music by Peter Low

THE SONG OF THE CHIMNEY
(Peter Low, Oct 2010)

I was a Christchurch chimney,
I was made in Victoria’s day.
I stood up high in the Christchurch sky
with my red bricks baked of clay.
At first I puffed out woodsmoke,
then smoke from coal from the Coast.
It flew up my flue when the sou’west blew,
while my folk stayed warm as toast.

I thought I was indispensible,
like a minaret next to a dome.
With firewood and coal I played my role
as the hearth and heart of a home.
And when those Clean Air addicts
had open fires all banned,
a closed-in box for burning logs
was installed, and that was grand.

But later under the city
a giant decided to twitch.
A seismic fault set off a jolt
and it shook me all to bits.
Within the space of seconds
I swayed like a drunken clown
and tipped and crashed, and cracked and smashed
my tiles as I tumbled down.

And now the path by the side wall
is blocked where my bricks have fallen,
while I in haste have been replaced
by a god-awful blue tarpaulin!

MUNTED (Peter Low, Feb 2011)

Munted, the centre of Christchurch got
Munted, our summer of progress got
Shunted, and our pointy cathedral got
Blunted – in the merry munting time.

Munted, a thousand shops and offices got
Munted, when the troll-freak beneath the ground
Grunted, that monster had maybe felt
Affronted – in the merry munting time.

BRIDGE 1
Sooo much pain and waste and rubble
So many tears and so much trouble
So many tonnes of that dirty gray silt
How can our city be .. rebuilt?

Munted, with roads across half the town
Munted, and odours in the river where we’d
Punted, we felt either hoodooed or
Hunted,– in the merry munting time.

Munted, our power and our water-mains
Munted, a score of old churches
De-fronted, the growth of our recovery
stunted – in the merry munting time.

BRIDGE 2
Broooken glass, huge rolling rocks
More chimneys down and more aftershocks
So many fissures and potholes and ooze
Sooo much need of por…taloos

Munted, our bridges and playing fields
Munted, our Grand Lord High Chancellor
Bunted, our luck and our mortality
Confronted – in the merry munting time.

Munted, the centre of Christchurch got
Munted, when the troll-freak beneath the ground
Grunted, we can’t say it’s quite what we
Wunted – in the merry munting time.

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