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Whispers in the dead of night
Speak of her, the lady of fright
Dressed in black, from head to toe
She may be here, you never know
Veil drawn over her pale face
Made of velvet and delicate lace
The midnight hour is when she comes
Footsteps approaching like distant drums
But you’re in luck, the lamp guy is here
To light your shadows and brighten your fear
As long as there is light on wall and floor
She will not enter your fortified door
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