Jerry put me on to a friend & the author Rick Spencer, one of the Mystic Seaport shanty crew Here is his song & reply

Barry: Thanks for the interest in posting the song. Lyrics follow this message. The song is copyright 1995 by R.E. Spencer and published by Silk Road Music, BMI. If anyone is interested it's available on the CD and Cassette, "Contentment," which is available through Safe Harbor music, PO Box 96, Mystic, CT 06355. Interested parties can also contact me at my e-mail address.

Hexagon Zombies I saw them approaching with their cases in their hands. They had a blank look in their eyes, I did not understand. The dread was in my heart from the evil looks upon their faces As they sat down in a circle and they opened up their cases. "Oh, no. This can't be true" I said. They were smiling like hyenas. And on each lap I saw that they were holding concertinas. The bellows wheezed, the buttons pressed, it was so surreal and queer. No horror I had heard prepared me for the sound I'd hear. Chorus: Hexagon Zombies, playing concertinas Lachenals and Jeffries, Wheatstones and Bastaris Hexagon Zombies, they all played much too loudly They had no sense of timing. Their instruments were breathing.

In morbid fascination I stared. I could not move. I was grounded Like watching a plane crash on a train wreck, And that's just how it sounded. Jigs and reels and hornpipes played. Morris tunes as well. Like some wheezing, groaning chorus from the deepest pits of Hell. Then all at once the playing stopped, the din was heard no more. One zombie took his box apart and laid the pieces on the floor Like a twisted body in the road. We stared at the disembowelled thing. An amazing pile of pads and reeds, levers valves and springs. Chorus

With glassy eyes one handed me a harmless looking box. He droned "Just try it, man." It was then my sould was lost. I felt it breathing in my hand, the buttons I did press. It spoke. And from that moment on my soul has not known rest. So come all you folk musicians and listen unto me. Stay away from concertinas, or the "squeezing dead" you'll be. Play the banjo or the dulcimer and live long and peaceful years. The devil made concertinas to assault our gentle ears. Chorus.

There you have it, Barry. Let me know if you get any reaction from it. I'll let you know if I get any hate mail. Rick