I copied this & it didn't come out right , I'll type it in. I'll also put in Rick's e-mail ( rspencer02@snet.net )

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 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 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 disemboweled 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 soul was lost.
I felt it breathing in my hand. The buttons I did press.
It spoke, and from that moment on, my soul has known no 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.

Barry