The Moral of This Story

I once knew a bricklayer named Bruno And a lunatic known as Joan, A Buddhist some called Judas And a policeman who was always stoned. Now Bruno wasn’t brilliant But he sure could build a wall – And when he wasn’t making mortar He heard a different call. Some say it came from mixing up The water, mud and sand While others say he had a friend Only he could see and understand. He often talked while working To his invisible, fanciful friend Who taught him how to build high arches That reached the sky and wishful winds. Joan heard voices and made big choices Like building castles in the clouds – For God and friends her head would spin And no one knows quite how. While Judas was a peaceful man Always smiling from deep within – But someone killed him, mistakenly For some other traitorous friend. And last but not least the policeman, A stoner on the beat – Who never arrested anyone Being usually half asleep. While loving his mortal enemy Even those who wished him dead – He didn’t seem to mind being lost in time “I have the right to remain silent,” he said. The moral of this story If ever one exists – Is nothing more and nothing less Than every soul is entitled to bliss.