When I lived in Hamilton there was a Down's Syndrome aman who would stand near the doors of the Farmer's Market under Copp's Colliseum; lots of concrete all around for sound to echo and echo on. He would wander up and down by the wall and sing away to himself and the listening air. There seemd to be few discernible words but a whole world of feeling in his singing. Stopping to listen to him was one of the high points of going to market.