....the hollow men
the stuffed men
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Their dried voices, when
They whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In a dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember them—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
With apologies to Mr. Eliot...