And sometimes, from down in the depths of the vale,
The whine rises up in a terrible wail;
And the people who hear are like to turn pale,
And flee from the Valley of Grump, my dears,
Far away from the Valley of Grump!
There the tears ever falling are turned into fog
That hangs o'er the vale damp and chill,
And in it the little folks shiver and shake
Till they really are well-nigh ill!
So I long to cry out to the sad little crew,