Quote:
Originally posted by widebody911
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen strange sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
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That's the only poem I can recite from beginning to end.
Here's my contribution:
Little Jimmy's gone way out of the back streets
Out of the window, into the falling rain,
And he's right on time, right on time.
That's why Broken Arrow waved his finger
Down the road so dark and narrow
In the evening just before the Sunday six-bells chime
And way out on the highway
All the dogs are barkin' way down below
And you wander away from your hillside retreated view
Went to wanderin' Nordhbridge way out on the railroad
Together all the tipping trucks will unload
All the scrapbooks built together stuck with glue
And I'll stand beside you