In a house full of riches, she felt defeated
Diamonds, pearls, rubies, and trinkets
The scour of an infant sorrow
Defines her,
Oh the dead and the living cry
With her wicked roses to match
Unbeknownst to her, the flail flies ruin
Such cassidies of truin,
I honor this humble abode
Which is trashy and denying
Because there is no evening without her
Such dirty looks
Bring dirty books,
Oh what a confession beneath the dust
The dust that trembles at her death
For tomorrow the graveyard shall sing
And all hail to all truths
The peanut butter shall rot,
And all the crazy dolls that live here
Won\'t live here no more
Because love is a funny name for this broad
For this infant sorrow is king
And grown women scream and cry
For she is a library woman, you see?
Books, books, and dirty looks
What is your formal initiation?
For with death comes sorrow
Just look at her picture
Mobiling before the scene;
Oh truant looks a-grieving
For the ghost of Janet Green has passed.