Why do they whistle so loud, when they walk past the graveyard late at night?
Why do they look behind them when they reach the gates?
Why do they have any gates? Why don't they go through the wall?
But why, O why do they make that horrible whistling sound?
GO AWAY, LIVE PEOPLE, STOP HAUNTING THE DEAD
If they catch you, it is said, they make you rap, rap, rap on a table all
And blow through a trumpet and float around the room in long white veils,
While they ask you, and ask you: Can you hear us, Uncle Ted?
Are you happy, Uncle Ted? Should we buy or should we sell?
Should we marry, Uncle Ted?
What became of Uncle Ned, Uncle Ted, and is he happy,
and ask him if he knows what became of Uncle Fred?
KEEP AWAY, LIVE PEOPLE, KEEP FAR AWAY,
STAY IN THE WORLD'S OTHER WORLD WHERE YOU REALLY BELONG.
YOU WILL PROBABLY BE MUCH HAPPIER THERE.
And who knows, what they are hunting for, always looking,
looking, looking with sharp bright eyes where they ought to have sockets?
Whoever saw them really grin with their teeth?
Who knows why they worry, or what they scheme, with a brain where there should
be nothing but good, damp air?
STAY AWAY, LIVE PEOPLE, STAY AWAY,
YOU MEAN NO HARM, AND WE AREN'T AFRAID OF YOU, AND WE DON'T
BELIEVE SUCH PEOPLE EXIST,
BUT WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR? WHO DO YOU WANT?
WHO? WHO? WHO? O WHO?
Special Thanks to Jackie
For sending me the poem.
Border Thanks to: