Papa Death

Oh, Pa-pa Death: he groans a sicrit hi'mn, from de'p wit'in his gullet's pit.
He slowly drone and clap -- without a rhythm. A' rockin' idly; words be writ...

T'ese words, they s'mmer souls with ev'ry tongue,
as Father Grim exhales th' songs:
tuh tombs the ragg'id selves do fall uh'part,
and 'til he done, he just a'swungs--

he swungs upon the po'ch; he sing 'imself to sleep, and only wake for mo' sa'.
his hi'mn be still unknown to all'us'folk; but mos' all'us know th' coda.





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