A Most Peculiar Man

He was a most peculiar man.
That’s what Mrs. Riordan said and she should know;
She lived upstairs from him
She said he was a most peculiar man.
He was a most peculiar man.
He lived all alone within a house,
Within a room, within himself,
A most peculiar man.
He had no friends, he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him,
'Cause he wasn’t friendly and he didn’t care
And he wasn’t like them.
Oh, no! he was a most peculiar man.
He died last Saturday.
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
With the windows closed so he’d never wake up To his silent world and his tiny room;
And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soon.
And all the people said, «What a shame that he’s dead,
But wasn’t he a most peculiar man?»