Bring out the rubber tired buggy/Bring out the rubber tired hack/I'm takin' my Johnny to the graveyard/But I ain't gonna bring him back

One glance sufficed to identify the intruder, for none but he could boast of such a dark, lowering countenance ; and all exclaimed in mingled wonder and terror at his unwonted presence in those sunlit regions:

Come, now a roundel and a fairy song ... Fairies sing.

Sunpie—in real life, a park ranger and an accordionist who leads a good zydeco band—taunted Harrison […].