The paradox with which Russell made play,
Is a trick of language ,not the world
For in Jerusalem, the men don’t shave
And as we know, each spectrum has its wave.
The barber was a Jew quite orthodox
And to his salon, all the rich men flocked
He trimmed his beard with my old pinking shears
So he would have waves around his ears.
As over-educated men made argument
He listened to them with his ear well bent.
But told them not that they were silly fools
For on this earth, the madmen make the rules.
A paradox, a wonder that we love.
When men so cruel will thrash the holy dove.