| Dr Sax the master knower of
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| Easter was now reduced to penury
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| And looking at Stained glass windows
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| In old churches-His only 2
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| Last friends in life, this impossibly
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| Hard life no matter under what
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| Conditions it appears, where Bela
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| Lugosi and Boris Karloff, who visited
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| Him annually in his room on 3rd Street
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| And cut thru the fogs of evening with
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| Their heads bent as the bells of St Simon
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| Tolled a heartbroken «Kathleen» across
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| The rooftops of old hotels where similar old
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| Men like Doctor Sax sat bent headed
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| On beds of woe with prayerbeads between
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| Their feet, Oh moaning, homes for
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| Lost pigeons or time’s immemorial
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| White dove
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| Of the roses
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| Of the unborn
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| Astonished bliss-
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| And there they’d sit in the little
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| Room, Sax on the edge of the bed with a
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| Bottle of rotgut Tokay in his hand, Bela
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| In the rocking chair, Boris standing by
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| The sink---
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| And then Sax wd always say
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| «Please play the monster for me» and of course
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| The old actors, who loved him dearly and came to
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| See him for human tender sentimentality not
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| Monstrous reasons protested but he always
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| Got drunk and cried so that Boris first had
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| To get up and extend his arms do
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| Frankenstein go uck! |
| then Bela
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| Wd stand and arm cape and leer and
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| Approach Sax, who squealed |