The world has surely lost its head
The news is full of crimes
There's robberies in The Telegraph
And there's murders in The Times
And always more obituaries
And even one of these
Concerns the brutal slaughter
Of an old Miss Emma Keys

The police have got their man
They're sure he never left the scene
Indeed he led the hue and cry
A most unusual thing
An arsonist, a murderer
His soul will soon be frying
He's young but old enough to kill
But not too young for dying

Now it seams the populous will queue
To see him stand in court
To hear him speak his wicked lies
While smiling at his thoughts
This arrogant young ruffian
Is obviously guilty
Though no where does it say exactly
How or why he killed her
Forget it, dear, it's not the first
There's bound to be another
The way you carry on
You'll have us thinking she's your mother
This man called 'Me' has had his day
And soon he'll be forgotten
So, put that paper down
Before your breakfast goes quite rotten