The Edison Museum, not open to the public.

                            Its haunted towers rise into the clouds above it.

                            Folks drive in from out of town

                            To gaze in amazement when they see it.



                            Just outside the gate, I look into the courtyard

                            Underneath the gathering thunderstorm.

                            Through the iron bars, I see the Black Maria

                            Revolving slowly on its platform.

                            In the topmost tower, a light burns dim

                            A coiling filament glowing within.



                            The Edison Museum, once a bustling factory

                            Today is but a darkened cobweb covered hive of 

                            industry

                            The tallest, widest and most famous haunted mansion 

                             in New Jersey



                            Behind a wooden door, the voice of Thomas Alva

                            Recites a poem on a phonograph.

                            Ghosts float up the stairs, like silent moving 

                            pictures:

                            The loyal phantoms of his in-house staff.

                            A wondrous place it is, there can be no doubt;

                            But no one ever goes in, and no one ever goes out.



                            So when your children quarrel

                            and nothing seems to quell them,

                            Just tell them that you'll take them to

                            the Edison Museum.

                            The largest independently-owned and operated 

                            mausoleum.