I didn't know, I told my friends I only saw the odds and ends Littered over his garden. I didn't know, I couldn't see The person that he used to be Before his confusion. We used to call the council too They'd charge him for the work, it's true ...though he hated them.
The blow fly problem abated for a little while. The rats had nowhere to hide until he provided more accommodation.
I couldn't see, I told my friends A garden full of odds and ends Obliterated the man. I couldn't know, I didn't see He once was just like you and me Before his confusion. The council took his stuff away It took them more than half a day To move it.
We asked what he could possible want with second-hand garlic presses and a pair of boy's shorts.
I didn't care, I told my friends How many men the council sends It will not solve it. They'd need to know, they'd need to see The solution's clear enough to me He needs to go into an institution. The council tried to talk him round They never gained an inch of ground He was intractable.
The junk helped him live his life Old air conditioners and wood for healing was an unusual approach....
I didn't see, I told my friends I hated all the odds and ends Gathered with love. I wouldn't know, I wouldn't see He needed care from you and me To cure his confusion. The council only saw the crap Only television saw the chap Under the junk.
Even then, the hurts in his life were only diagnosable Using the encrustation outside.
I wrote this poem in tribute to Mr Trebus, an elderly man who was the subject of a television documentary. He has a wikipedia page now.