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Lenore Burger
Lenore Burger
That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate."
And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.
Ding dong! ding dong! 'tis the sound, 'tis the song,—
"Room, room for the passing dead!"
And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.
And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.