I'm a Harpo Marxist.
I am nearly always mute.
In silence there is beauty
And undoubtedly there's truth.

When I speak there's falsehood.
I become a well of lies,
Shattering the silence.
I create a wall of noise.

Silence has its music.
I hear it in my head.
I play a silent harp
To express what can't be said.

This music is enchanting.
Women can't resist.
I say so much with silence,
Or at least I give the gist.

I say too much in sentences
That badly need full stops.
I get myself in trouble
When conversing with the cops.

I've lied about my height, my weight,
The colour of my skin,
And why I burnt some documents
And papers in a bin,

And how many stale cakes I ate
To win a stupid bet.
Many times I've claimed I won
A game of chess with Death,

That I've seen saintly visions
And a moving garden gnome,
And that I used expletives
When I met the Pope in Rome.

I've claimed to be a doctor,
Tennis player and an actor,
Bono's biscuit-maker
And the man who drives his tractor.

My memoirs were all fiction.
I called them simply 'Me'.
I claimed that I'd been working
In a pub since I was three,

And that I'd started drinking
Shortly after turning four.
The house my parents lived in
Had a roof but no front door.

The former door was serving
As the roof above our heads.
We used potato sacks
For our clothing and our beds,

But we didn't have potatoes.
Instead we ate the grass.
My father made a fortune
Making gold from bits of brass.

But then he lost this money
When he bought some magic peas,
Believing that when put in locks
They'd turn into brass keys.

His one life-long ambition
Was to be a top-class thief.
But much to our misfortune
His career was all too brief.

The peas tried hard to change,
But they were all beginners.
He took them from the locks
And they ended up as dinners.

My memoirs were undoubtedly
A long, depressing book.
At other times I've lied about
My massive wealth and luck.

I claimed to own three mansions,
Two Rolls Royces and four Bentleys,
Two ocean-going yachts,
Fully crewed, and I sent these

On a race around the world.
I never found out why
Only one returned.
They brought me back a pie.

Like the boy who cried out 'Wolf'
I told the truth right after
Telling far too many lies,
So it only triggered laughter.

But I swear this really happened.
I bought a cake last year.
Before I'd even cut it
I was filled with dread and fear.

I noticed something moving
And a little mouse came out
From the side of my new cake.
There was icing in his mouth.

He looked as if he'd recently
Been woken from his rest.
He hid when I said 'hi'
But he's still a welcome guest.

He lives behind the cupboards,
In fear of being chased.
The cake was full of tunnels
But I didn't mind the taste.