On the back of the white door There hangs a dark brown hat Given to me by a stranger that Quite possibly have thought I was poor Or perhaps thought I could turn it into something more Than a simple dark brown hat That some times falls on my doormat And lays unnoticed on my floor But perhaps the mat on which the hat doth lay Is an enchanted sort of ruggery That takes that hat to lands far away To supervise with new found eyes all manner of buggery It will remain in this land of play While I am doing the skull dugery