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!
* * * * *