We Are The Hollow Men

We are the hollow men
We are stuffed men
Learning together .
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in the dry grass
Or rat's feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without colour,
paralysed force, gesture without motion. . . .

T.S. Eliot