No, No, Cesare Poem by Paul Kesler

Caligari sent you, I can tell –
you have that awful musty smell;
moldering hair and listless sway,
as if you died just yesterday.

It must be loathsome, like a pox
to lie for hours in that box.
If I, like you, could see through fate,
I’d leave the Doctor for a mate.

But you have other jobs to do,
like strangling ladies while they snooze.
Your midnight strolls are the talk of the town,
and the Duchess has lost her wedding gown.

No, no, Cesare, I won’t stay
for you to claim my dying day.
Go back to your casket but tell the Doc
you’re due for a raise, then give him a shock:

Tell him you’re tired of this slipshod life;
Tell him you want a voluptuous wife.
But, most of all, tell him to leave me alone,
and get his lunatics off my phone.