A friend might sell you something sweet Some candy upon his first word (then) A golden apple should you meet -- Pomegranates from his orchard Will entice you to fall asleep Not with a thought would he then wait To carry home your soul a-slumber His lair the final stop of fate You'd think yourself pretty dumb Having entertained his kind date A sightly sugar seems to soothe But you may find you cannot move And, lo, your new eternal home Leaves you locked in the catacombs ----- Orig: Laclede Lofts