Sally Thomas walked out
Of the factory, for the last time,
In a mood so bloody foul,
She sparked and swore
Shouting curses to the sky
At the mediocrity,
The pure bloody dullness
Of the cobbling folk.
Shouting Curses in a thunderstorm,
She called to Spirits of old,
For Sally, she had witches blood
Although she didn’t know.
In her rage came
Words she swore
She’d never heard before
Some ancient curse
Passed down in blood
She was a witch’s witch’s daughter,
Though it was hidden in the past.
She never knew, what would come,
In that old factory,
Witches words carry power
Those folk soon
Found, to misfortune.
It started on the factory line,
With a tapping on the belt,
A shake and a vibration,
To a rhythm all things felt,
It caught everybody there
It caught the shoes too,
Infectious and delirious
To dance along to.
In the night, the footless shoes
And on the factory floor,
Began to dance a merry jig,
Thumping, to a self-made beat.
The old and the discarded,
The almost and the new,
Played merry havoc on the floor,
As the machines lurched in tune.
Next day no man could get near,
Without losing both his shoes,
for they’d take him
With them to the dance,
Then throw him to the floor
When he couldn’t keep up
And let him scramble away
Before they carried on the tune.
That week no one in town
They all were left barefoot.
All the Shoes had upped and gone,
Look as though they may,
They could not find a single one,
Not even understairs
Nothing with a sole was left,
Their shoes had all gone rogue
They had danced away in the night
To the grand old factory dance,
So now the people were all bootless
Walking In the morning light.
So now the factory’s had to close,
The cobblers ran away,
The shoe trade’s dead in Pedley,
Every man goes barefoot now.
Sally Thom, she’s laughing,
Her Dancing Curse still strong,
Now Pedley is a dancing town,
So once a year at least,
The men climb back into their shoes
And dance a merry jig.
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