Ever met a gypsy? With eyes like amber and hair like gold? On a recent trip to Neverland, I surely did. She spoke to me in a raspy voice, and a story she told...

"This is the story of a man unknown, with his love for the strange and cold.

A kilt he wore with a confidence that was untold. Some called him brazen. Some called him crude.

Cared he not for what people sang or sold.

This is the story of a man unknown, with his love for the strange and cold.

He lived in a sarcophagus for a home. He missed not the fiery embrace of his previous abode.

He preferred to watch the drama unfold.

This is the story of a man unknown, with his love for the strange and cold.

He owned a machine of which few would've known.

It was pliant for the most part, but with a glitch.

He kept it hidden for most of the year.

Villagers would heckle him for his oddity. He seemed to care not.

He did as he pleased and seemed ominous to children on streets.

Of evanescent quality he seemed.

Oh did I tell you, on the streets he'd sing?

He'd sing and jive to any happy tune.

This odd little man, with his brazen kilt and sarcophagus home.

Have you considered what you would do if you came across this oddity?

Would you laugh at him or run and hide?

Would you join him in song and dance or deride?

What would you do with this man unknown, with his love for the strange and cold?"

Enough of this story of the man unknown, said the gypsy and walked away. But not before I caught a glimpse of a man in a kilt on a hillock faraway...