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When twilight fast approaches and the evening bells have rung,
a time comes when the dirges and funeral songs are sung.
A barrage of nasty people, crepuscular and stark,
stream out of their burrows to frolic in the dark.
So must the locals given to activities of light
draw into their houses in shelter from the night,
and play their music louder to drown the dirges out,
and quell the morbid moaning with a joyous shout.
It’s in such rebellion that happiness is hung.
It’s not enough to live it, joy also must be sung.
Shout life to the rafters and live it to the hilt.
It’s your choice on which foundation your life story is built.