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here is little Effie's head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs
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stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did-
you imagine his surprise
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bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
-to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said
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whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song
might i'm called and did no wrong
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cried the third crumb, i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don't punish us for we were good;
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and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God, my name
is must and with the others i've
been Effie who isn't alive
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just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie's little, in
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(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjective crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs;
picture His peering biggest whey
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coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way-
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed
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with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering damned)
-staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day
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cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way
here is little Effie's head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
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