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The house of frameless rooms is long, Empty at its center am I; Footsteps fall at evensong; The wind is up, nightbirds whoop and cry. When will the ancient house fall down And I be on my way? Cross ghosts, crashing, creeping sounds, But for light of day. Its cross I have to bear Until I'm spilt on air; The ancient house is falling down, Its colors I shall wear. For all that's said and done by saints, The dead are but the dead; The ancient house is ruled by hants, Filling us with fear and dread.
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