That's Gein, Which Rhymes With Obscene

I'm done with Eddie Gein. Laid him to rest, you might say. He died in 1984 in a home for the criminally insane, which disappoints me. I prefer to see these guys executed.
Came across an interesting English folk song/poem that was referenced repeatedly in the book.

The Unquiet Grave

---

The Wind doth blow today, 
my love,And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.

I'll do as much for my true-love,
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.

The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?

'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.

You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
But my breath smells earthly strong;    
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,    
Your time will not be long.

"Tis down in younder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.

The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.

One more ghoulish reference from a guy named Henri Blot on trial in the 1800's in France for necrophilia. After being rebuked by the judge he replied: "How would you have it? Every man to his own tastes. Mine is for corpses."