Oh tin bath dear I hold you very dear
As by a hot coal fire, I wash my ear
Where Mum has got the water, I don’t know
As in the suds I sing , I love you so.
For in the bath, our forebears also sang
As in the woods they lived with no broadband.
And after many years they understood
They could talk outside the bath of dirty mud.
It did not seem like dirt to people then
As they were often travellers with the pen
Cleanliness it relative, you see.
Some of us were brought up with grey knees.
But relaxation opens up our chords
And in the woods they bathed and sang like birds
Is it better shopping the King’s Road
Or daubing all your family in blue woad?
As singing spreads the words each separate.
So every whispering can circulate.
After that,it’s voices in the head
And to asylums, we are swiftly led
So if we had stayed uncivilised ,unclean
Would our mental health have better been?
For if we do not speak in words and songs
The hidden voices would not make us wrong.
After all, who ever did decide
We are not allowed to hear from our inside?
Only words from other folk are sound
While voices in the head are cruelly blamed.
Far better to make friends with voices all,
Than struggle through that boring shopping mall.
And don’t use power to label me as mad,
If looking at our world makes me feel sad.


In mathematics, so they say it is often necessary








