They say he has a slanty way of looking at things
They say he used to graft rats with moth wings.
They tell many stories, most of which are gories,
About the things he's done and the awards he's won.
Talking abut his Findings, they whisper softly of his sins
Of bodies stacked in basements and people without skin,
Of different combinations of his terrifying equations
Scrawled upon his bed sheets and what happened to her feet
They talk about his wonders: their words are full of awe
But their smiles are the most jealous things that you ever saw
They talk of his gruesome ways and unhygenical displays
What happened to the children, that he used to be a woman
But most of all they talk in wonder they can't disguise
And try to fathom how he won the coveted Nobel Prize.
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