Nobody Is Home, Which Is Probably For The Better

The suicidal folk singer didn't let his words linger

                                     As he made his way into the sun

A burka-clad cabaret dancer was looking for the necromancer

                                  Through the sights of her chocolate vanilla tommy-gun

And both of them scolded Sloman for screwing up the theremin 

                             When he used his hands to indicate an obscenely bad pun