THE DILEMMA OF THE HEADLESS SPECTRE.
I've always done my best to please, Then wherefore do they scoff? A headless ghost, in days like these, Is very badly off. Some say, for Myers we ought to go, And some for Mr. Stead. I really can't profess to know, For I have lost my head. They come and ask me for a key To life's dark prison cell. Oh, what's the use of asking me? However can I tell? I do not understand the speech Of all these learned men. Wildly I wave my hand at each, Again and yet again. I feel that I have stayed too late, And yet I can't move on. I'm utterly inadequate, Because my head is gone. I wish I were I don't know what, I wish that I were dead. I don't know if I am or not, For I have lost my head!