The lights went out in New York
Then they went out in Goshen
I got stuck in Goshen and that was sad
The townsolf stared hard
Like their minds had been marred
By life in a district so downtrodden and drab

I flagged down a stranger
In a worn wooden wheelchair
And when I asked if he knew of a hotel
He said "if I get your meaning
Then I'm definitely leaning
Towards recommending the Farmer's Hotel. "

As I left to find the place
A mother looked me in the face
And whispered "please sir, not the Farmer's Hotel. "
Once where I was headed
She swore I would regret it
Though what might happen she wouldn't foretell

The old place it was vicious
Wicked and pernicious
"Please stay clean of that rank abbatoir"
Though her words alarmed me
I was stuck until morning
And in the end we must be who we are

With no light on the door
I wasn't quite sure
If a night clerk was working within
From behind a red curtain
Limped a perilous person
He appeared to have some egg on his chin

This old yankee warlock
Brushed back a gray forelock
And bid me to sign in the book
With no bonhomie
He proffered the key
Never once did he give me a look

I thanked the old codger
And in my role as the lodger
I headed upstairs for to sleep
There was no air of slumber
The doors, they had no numbers
Which room was intended for me?

The passage kept on going
Like the carpet was flowing
Towards that thing at the end of the hall
My own eyes had adjusted
This account can be trusted
Because I know that I saw what I saw