Then a ticket agent he
Seein’ mournin’, says to me,
“Can I get the cards, or help you in your trouble, Mister Brown?”
So with solemn words I said,
As I pinted to the dead,
“There you’ll find, I guess, our pilgrimage and shrine is written down.”
Then all night beneath the stars
We sat grimly in the cars,
Sometimes sleepin’, sometimes thinkin’, sometimes drinkin’, till the dawn;
And each man went in his turn