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DAY OF THE DEAD
Here, here! A feast for all who’ve paid
In rotting silence, time alone...
Now all about, the bounty’s laid;
O rise ye, merry bags o’ bones!
The crypt lays open, groaning board,
So brush away the dusty years.
This hour from ancient vaults, where stored,
The cobwebs wove between our tears—
We stand, we stand, and sup tonight
The dark will play our waitress coy
For what a debt it owes to light
When kinsmen come to share our joy!
The catacombs will echo deep,
Into the hall of Hell’s own king,
With all the mirth we’ve found to keep
O pour a draft—this night we sing!
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