The Magic Mountain

Fair stood the wind for France

The land in which I’ll prance

Along the boulevards and rues

In my winklepicker shoes

Then to Switzerland I’ll proceed

To the Alps! Fear not, I’ll heed

Warnings about the high thin air

Which warn my brain may need repair

But that thin air is just the thing

For those of us who’re suffering

Who suffer as I do from TB

Lying shattered on a balcony

High in the Alps’ imperious span

Like a character from Thomas Mann

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