I'm The Ghost Of That Poor Gobbler Who Used To Be So Great, They Took My Poor, Neglected Bones And Piled Them On A Plate. Reader, Shed A Kindly Tear For My Unhappy Fate. This Is The Common Lot Of All Upon The World'S Great Chart; We've Got To Leave A Pile Of Bones-- The Stupid And The Smart. Even When Napoleon Died He Left A Bonaparte. We Are Merely Puppets Moving On A String, And When We Think That We Are It, The Axe Will Fall--"Gezing!" O, Grave, Where Is Thy Victory? O, Death, Where Is Thy Sting?