The Witch of the Wide Equation

Traditional British Folk, Medieval Tavern Ballad, Bardic Folk

[Intro]
(Rhythmic boot stomps on a wooden floor)
(Lute starts a frantic, minor-key jig)
(Laughter and the clinking of pewter mugs)

[Verse 1]
Old Mother Margery sat by the well
Not casting a hex or a traditional spell
But scratching strange lines in the soft summer mud
That curdled the cream and it froze up our blood
She didn't use eye of a newt or a toad
But a symbol so sharp that the local priest bowed
A horizontal line with a dot up and down
The foulest division ever seen in this town!

[Pre-Chorus]
(The music stops abruptly)
The blacksmith dropped his hammer
The milkmaid lost her breath
For logic in a kirtle
Is a certain sign of death!

[Chorus]
Oh, she’s doing the sums, she’s counting the grain!
She’s got thirty-seven thoughts inside of her brain!
She knows that a triangle’s got sides numbering three
It’s a dark, numeric, feminine sorcery!
Burn the abacus, smash the slate
Before she calculates our fate!

[Verse 2]
I brought her a bushel of apples to buy
She squinted her gaze and she looked at the sky
She said, "If you take two and add them to four
You’ve six altogether and not a bit more!"
The baker collapsed and the cobbler turned white
To hear such a blasphemy whispered at night
"Six?" cried the Mayor, with a tremble of lip
"Only God knows the count of a vegetable ship!"

[Pre-Chorus]
The friar crossed his chest
And he hid away his purse
For a woman who can multiply
Is a geometric curse!

[Bridge]
(Hurdy-gurdy solo, frantic and dissonant)
She spoke of a "zero," a hole in the air
A digit for nothing? We gave her a stare!
If nothing is something, then something is naught
And that’s how the souls of the village are bought!
She measured the shadow of the old steeple clock
And told us the time—oh, the absolute shock!
"It’s quarter to four," she said with a grin
As if being precise wasn't a mortal sin!

[Breakdown]
(Slow, heavy stomps)
One plus one... (Two!)
Two plus two... (Four!)
She’s opening up... (The Devil’s door!)

[Final Chorus]
Oh, she’s doing the sums, she’s counting the grain!
She’s got thirty-seven thoughts inside of her brain!
She knows that a triangle’s got sides numbering three
It’s a dark, numeric, feminine sorcery!
Burn the abacus, smash the slate
Before she calculates our fate!

[Outro]
Keep your fingers tucked in tight
Don't let her count your teeth tonight
(Lute fades out with a sharp, dissonant pluck)
(Distant sound of a mob shouting "Carry the one!")
[End]

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[Intro] (Rhythmic boot stomps on a wooden floor) (Lute starts a frantic, minor-key jig) (Laughter and the clinking of pewter mugs) [Verse 1] Old Mother Margery sat by the well Not casting a hex or a traditional spell But scratching strange lines in the soft summer mud That curdled the cream and it froze up our blood She didn't use eye of a newt or a toad But a symbol so sharp that the local priest bowed A horizontal line with a dot up and down The foulest division ever seen in this town! [Pre-Chorus] (The music stops abruptly) The blacksmith dropped his hammer The milkmaid lost her breath For logic in a kirtle Is a certain sign of death! [Chorus] Oh, she’s doing the sums, she’s counting the grain! She’s got thirty-seven thoughts inside of her brain! She knows that a triangle’s got sides numbering three It’s a dark, numeric, feminine sorcery! Burn the abacus, smash the slate Before she calculates our fate! [Verse 2] I brought her a bushel of apples to buy She squinted her gaze and she looked at the sky She said, "If you take two and add them to four You’ve six altogether and not a bit more!" The baker collapsed and the cobbler turned white To hear such a blasphemy whispered at night "Six?" cried the Mayor, with a tremble of lip "Only God knows the count of a vegetable ship!" [Pre-Chorus] The friar crossed his chest And he hid away his purse For a woman who can multiply Is a geometric curse! [Chorus] Oh, she’s doing the sums, she’s counting the grain! She’s got thirty-seven thoughts inside of her brain! She knows that a triangle’s got sides numbering three It’s a dark, numeric, feminine sorcery! Burn the abacus, smash the slate Before she calculates our fate! [Bridge] (Hurdy-gurdy solo, frantic and dissonant) She spoke of a "zero," a hole in the air A digit for nothing? We gave her a stare! If nothing is something, then something is naught And that’s how the souls of the village are bought! She measured the shadow of the old steeple clock And told us the time—oh, the absolute shock! "It’s quarter to four," she said with a grin As if being precise wasn't a mortal sin! [Breakdown] (Slow, heavy stomps) One plus one... (Two!) Two plus two... (Four!) She’s opening up... (The Devil’s door!) [Final Chorus] Oh, she’s doing the sums, she’s counting the grain! She’s got thirty-seven thoughts inside of her brain! She knows that a triangle’s got sides numbering three It’s a dark, numeric, feminine sorcery! Burn the abacus, smash the slate Before she calculates our fate! [Outro] Keep your fingers tucked in tight Don't let her count your teeth tonight (Lute fades out with a sharp, dissonant pluck) (Distant sound of a mob shouting "Carry the one!") [End]

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