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Letter (apologies to the former Headmaster of Upper Canada College)

July 3, 2011

Dear Dick,

They told me Dicky Sadler,
They told me you were dead.
They told me it was syphilus
That rotted your old head.

Your lovely wife was quite morose
She cried herself to sleep:
She thought it was an overdose,
Not something quiet so cheap.

At Mutual of Ohama
They’re wary of your death,
They’re sure it was no accident
That made you lose your breath.

In 1-oh-6 of U.C.C.
They’re spending lots of time:
Old Bredin is the principal
Suspected of the crime.

They’ve found no evidence just yet
To back this fearless claim,
It looks like time is running out:
They’ll have to pay the dame.

I know there is no truth in them
(Those rumours running round)
Because I’m staring at you now
And dare not make a sound.

Tomorrow you will meet your wife,
Upon this boiling sand :
And live a life of luxury
Where work is getting tanned.

With all the photographs I’ve got,
You’re in a bit of trouble.
Unless you want those pictures found,
My fee had better double.

Sincerely, Mr. Adamson

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