There once lived a lass called Annabelle Lee,
Who ran a boarding house, down by the sea,
And people came from far and near,
To taste her jellied eels in beer.
But Annabelle sat by the pool of tears and wept for a love long lost,
And mourned a lad called Edgar Allen and the ring that he bought at cost.
“Oh Annabelle Lee, I loves thee, lass, me passions they are quite molten,
But I must leave for three-score years, I’ve got a wife in Bolton.”
And thus she sat and wept each night as she prepared the Morecambe shrimp,
And wished that she had never met this double-dealing wimp.
And so she shut her rooming house and boarded up the door,
“I’ve done with all this loving stuff, I’m going to be called Lenore.”