My friend I see
But the sight, awful
He is sitting upon a chair
His head a-resting upon his hands
He is crying, weeping a storm
For the news that he just received
He is confined to his room
Refusing all consoltation
All his friends his family
Joining him in the weeping
For the news he has claimed
For he has that terrible condition
The sickness of sickness
He has the killer of killers
The disease, of cancer
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