"Shot!" said I.
"Shot!" said I, "Oh no, that can't be true!"
But in the emergency room they tried their might to save him, but the hope was slowly dying away as the afternoon began to fade promptly away.
Everyone just stopped and prayed. Their hearts skipped thump after thump as their throats began to lump (with tears).
Then the radio began to speak,
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"He's dead. The President of the United States is dead."
All was still.
All was sad.
A thunderbolt had hit our path.
Eyes fell down.
Tears fell down.
No one made a joyful sound.
A knot curled in my throat--a knot that seems to have not been broken.
That phrase had hit us as if in answer to out prayers.
Why an answer so deep and sad?
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"Softshoe and Cigars"
