"The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass.
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar,
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion