Of the gruesome, morbid type,
And he told of cold and hunger,
“Little alls” sent “up the pipe.”
And he piled on high the agony,
As with sobs we gasped for breath,
When he sang us—à la Dagonet,
Of murder, want, and death.
Doth a child convert a burglar,
Or that burglar kill that child,
Then this sentimental gurgler,