Friday, April the 19th, 2013
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Eerie old barn, wherein I lay sprawled,
The farm that it stands on, what is it called?
It goes by the name of Scroonhoonpooge Farmyard.
There, you see, that was not so hard.
But other questions we might raise
In these squalid, sordid days
In this eerie barn of woe
Have answers we will never know.