Oh who could escape the grasp of Dr. Eams?
With all his goals as clear as sweet running streams,
Yet with a faltering efficacy of a man of antiquity,
He trembles and shakes, with a patient wide awake.

He is sued and dispatched as a mental case,
No one succors those tears on his ragged face,
That face made ancient by neglect and misunderstanding,
Of days and days of leaving him somberly standing.

How reckless people must be,
How reckless indeed they must be,
To deny the world of the genius that is Dr. Eams,
To deny the world the gifts of to with new eyes see.

He gave us the blind the chance of fresh sight,
He would have let us with new vision take flight,
And how do we repay?
By leading him with our neglect to intolerable dismay.

Now the poor old kook goes to the graveyard some nights,
Sometimes on a mare, sometimes on his own solemn plight,
And with a senile sense of being righteous,
He tries to revive his deceased mother, Mrs. Subconscious.