the sun sets to the top
of the neighboring Motophoto
and good upper deck people
a train whistle in my sink
grins with pride but no teeth
happy like a frat boy
with a blond and a dalmation
the time comes to check the swing
that grin won't last forever
pick up the whistle it's time to sing
a blues in the key of clever.
Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is
particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself,
to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands
shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit
me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
-- Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"
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