There was a merry minstrel once
Lived on the Isle Of Wight.
He sang and played upon his lute
And kept it polished bright.
He loved to write computer odes,
He wrote his songs in Morse's codes,
And ditties sweet lay round his feet
As he sat in the road.
He believed in minus 1
He liked to find square roots.
He played imagined notes all day,
Upon his master's flute,
But when he felt a mental lack,
His father called in Paul Dirac.
Who gave him twice as many notes.
So more and more this minstrel wrote
Till a catastrophic crack.
The world divided into two,
So I'm not me and you're not you
But we have doubles in the glass
I learned that in my physics class.
One minstrel played upon the sand,
His alter ego had a band
Until a Magus found their file
They'll be back,in a little while,
Walking hand in hand .
The world has cracked
Behind our backs.
There'll be a mighty fall.
We need to build some fiery walls,
To stop the men with nuclear balls,
From making any calls.
Plus and minus don't make nought,
so keep those square roots well apart.
We'll let the mirrored minstrels play,
But make sure you keep well away,
In case explosions start.
Plus and minus interact,
That's what the scientists say.
Nothing is a powerful sign,
And nothing's not going away.