1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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