Down the faded carpeting the ghosts of silver screen
Seem to tread in movie houses where the brass turns green.
Lonely little Bijous or the Roxy or the Audi –
Cobwebs camouflaging peeling paintwork once so gaudy.
Here come Stan and Ollie; over there is Harold Lloyd.
Barbara Stanwyck, Clara Bow – the queens of celluloid!
Wallace Beery shambles by, and then glides Adolph Menjou—
A breath of glory making this old firetrap again new.
These ghosts are easy to appease, as sure as you are born;
Just pour 'em out a sticky Coke, with incense of popcorn.
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