Ol' Table Toes, Whose nose doth glow, Whilst the sky doth snow, On graves where Death doth sow. Ol' Table Toes, Thy beard shan't grow, And mayst the red moon show Thou hast neither friend nor foe Ol' Table Toes, 'Neath spectral throes, Caught 'twixt parting crows, Rots thus in mortuary clothes. Ol' Table Toes, Where black wind blows, And the bright filth flows, Veils whate'er the dead man knows.