A clear sounding crash not far off
Has gone and left my wits aloft.
I find this common everyday
Where passers-by stop and stay.
A thought provoked by damn-ed wits
Convince me to stop and think a bit.
And speak to men on chairs with wheels,
And ask them bluntly how it feels.
For a crooked man is much despised,
And they say dead men can tell no lies,
But I’ve seen this place both low and high
When I stopped to watch the passers-by.