MR NOBODY

I know a funny little man,

As quiet as a mouse,

    Who does the mischief that is done

In every bodies house

   There’s no one ever sees his face,

And yet we all agree,

That every plate we break

Was cracked, by Mr Nobody.

‘Tis he who always tears the books,

who leaves the door ajar.

He pulls the buttons from our shirts,

And scatters pins afar.

That squeaking door will always squeak,

For pray thee don’t you see.

We leave the oiling to be done

By Mr Nobody.

He puts the damp wood on the fire,

So kettles cannot boil.

His are the feet that bring the mud,

And all the carpet soil.

The papers always are mislaid,

Who had them last but he?

There is no one tosses them about

But Mr Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door

By none of us are made,

We never leave the blind unclosed,

To let the curtain fade.

The ink we never spill,

The boots that are lying around you see,

Are not our boots – they all belong

TO MR NOBODY.

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