Heard on Radio Lab the other day. It seems Robert Louis Stevenson got stories from little people who lived inside his head. If only my stories were so great!
The Little Men Inside My Head
How I wish those little men who live inside my head
Would speak to me as clearly as to Stevenson long dead
Don’t they know there’s little time and so much yet to say?
Knowing this they shouldn’t stall, nor furthermore delay
All credit be to them, those tiny brainy chaps
Who’ll guide my fingers to the keys with sharp and rapid snaps
Laughing at the games they play, ‘tis nothing but a joke
And in the end a pile of paper going up in smoke
But if you please, do tell me but the very best of tales
And I will shoulder all the blame, when everything else fails!