The Edison Museum, not open to the public.
It's 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 Mariah
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 stair 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.