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Deep in the ridges there is a house,

A house so low and wide

It might have died right where it lied.

For though it don’t creek (and silence

It keeps) the bones seem to sink.

And in the house is a cellar

A cellar so deep it moans

And the door to the cellar groans.

So the fear rises up on the back of my neck

Whenever I mistake to open it.

In the cellar grow dark shadows

And things that like to scare

you still. Of inaction do beware

For whether ghost or ghastly beast

There’s no knowing how it will play out.

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