”Foaming at the mouth he began to make his midnight creep” A line from Bob Dylan’s “The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest” From the album “John Wesley Harding”

I hate being asked, what is the question I hate being asked. Another thing I hate being asked, is “What kind of lunatic comes up with a story like this?”

A SOAP OPERA.

Please don’t ask me where my wife has gone
She’s left me alone run off with someone
I haven’t eaten for nigh on ten nights and ten days
I did try cooking, then I couldn’t find the pan in the thick smoky haze

With the washing machine I just couldn’t cope
I couldn’t get the lid off to put in the soap
So I put the full box in that door at the front
After prizing it open with a screwdriver blunt

All those bubbles, like an avalanche I can only describe it
I finally managed to find the front door, now I stand here feeling a twit
Yes I know I shouldn’t have put all my clothes in at the same time
I had none left to flee the scene of the crime

I would fly away if bubbles made wings
At least bubbles come in handy, to cover some things
I’m just hoping and praying the wind doesn’t get up
I don’t want all the neighbours to see my private set up

So don’t ask me why, I don’t look my best
When I’m stood in the street completely undressed
The fact that I’m naked is the least of my troubles
I can’t find my house in that mountain of bubbles.

All words Meadowhead Bard.