A cleaning fiend, we all can see,
Let’s laugh about your “OCD”
Though to tidy is your choice,
And you don’t have an inner voice,
And doctors never told you so,
You’ll tell a lie for humour’s glow.
For if you fail it does not matter,
Your minds not sick, despite your patter.
You’re not drowning in your head.
You’re not bound by what’s unsaid.
But I can’t tell if you are thick.
Or if you’re just some awful prick.
To find joy and entertain,
With jokes about a broken brain.
So tell me why when you forget,
Dementia’s never in your debt?
Or what about when you get spots?
Is that now the chicken pox?
You might prefer to be clean,
But OCD’s a world unseen.
While you make light of evil’s guise,
He does not laugh behind my eyes.