Mephisto, nett and tone-deaf, entered left,
Observed th’unsung the Nibelung’d become,
Said “Never thought he’d become so bereft!”
And thus is ‘zebub’s son one stricken dumb.
But how such thousands more hit floor, fell down
All yawning, struck agog, about finále:
Without a yowl of Faust-soul owning crown
Must opt to haunt or jaunt along to halls
unknown. To groan and moan or be alone
To boo or be by you forgotten too
Trans formed to stone, some thrown a floral bone.
Voodoo untrue? Soon, soon, before they shoo
you—shriek, ye spirit, lest to we it seem
That Death’s an eerie empty night scene. Scream.