"I read in a biography of W.C Fields that the great comedian liked to refer to
Death as "the fellow in the bright nightgown". Each verse is a different
encounter with the Fellow."
I've always been quite fond of W.C. Fields and his movies, and his imagination of a man in a bright nightgown is...well, disturbing but yet difficult to envision. You can't quite picture what he imagines, but it holds a kind of grotesque normalcy. Nothing exotic like a demon or a fearsome reaper, just a fellow in a (perhaps glowing?) nightgown. I suppose the most horrible thought along those lines is that none of us would really know what the Fellow would look like, and the moment we do...he's here and our time is up. So with that quasi-ghoulish premise, here are the lyrics:
I dreamed I had a fever
I was pushin one-oh-three
My mom’s all upset - cryin’ by my bedside
Everybody’s prayin’ for me
I hear a scratchin at the window
I somehow twist myself around
I realize
I’m eyes to eyes
With the fella in the Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
You can’t fight with the fella
In the Brite Nitegown
The eagle flys on Friday
My baby wants to bash
I hit the ATM - and march down the street
With a roll of party cash
Right then a couple lit-up brothers
They gently put me on the ground
They do the steal
Leave me to deal
With the fella in the Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
You can’t fight with the fella
In the Brite Nitegown
Ten milligrams of Chronax
Will whip you back through time
Past Hebrew kings - and furry things
To the birth of humankind
I shared in all of nature’s secrets
But when I finally came around
I’m sittin’ on the rug
Gettin’ a victory hug
From the fella in the Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
Brite Nitegown
You can’t fight with the fella
In the Brite Nitegown
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