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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Oh, listen, kind souls, to the ballads we spin, Of virtue unblemished and wholly untouched by all sin. We wander as angels through this earthly den, The noblest of women, the wisest of men. We plan, and we toil, we strive, and we strain, But for one tiny hitch—one perpetual pain. Our triumphs are stymied, our futures are blurred, And the ship of our greatness is ever deferred. Yes, we’d be so flawless, so purely divine, In manners and morals, in thought and in line, We’d conquer the globe, we’d govern the weather, And bind all of human existence together. The world would be peaceful, a utopia grand, With milk and with honey ablaze in the land, All problems would vanish, dissolved without bother, If it was not for that one, that dreadful another. It is not our habit to shirk or to blame, Or to play with the embers of scandal and shame. But look at our neighbor, our partner, our mate! They dictate our misery, our sorrow, our fate. If a project collapses, a cake falls quite flat, If we trip on the rug or step on the cat, It is clear, without question or doubt, That the fault lies squarely on another or clout. How splendidly simple to wash our own hands, Of the chaos that blooms in our cleverly laid plans! If the budget goes red or the office goes sour, If we lose our composure, our temper, our power, We mournfully sigh, and we look to the sky, With a perfectly sculpted, magnificent cry: “I would be a saint, a magnate, a brother, If it was not for the weight of this bothersome other!” We gaze at our faults, then we quickly adjust, For viewing our flaws is a terrible bust. We carefully package our venom and spite, And label our neighbor as utterly trite. Our gossiping tongues are just tools for the truth, To save the poor masses, to guide the sweet youth. And we’d hold our tongues, and we’d care for each other, If it were not for the crimes of that terrible other. So let us raise glasses in glorious praise, Of the scapegoats who carry us through all our days! They take all the burdens, the blame, and the gall, To ensure that we never, in failure, can fall. Through the fog of our blunders, it’s delightfully clear, That we have nothing quite left to mend or to fear. For we’d rule as pure legends, with no mess or bother, Yes, we’d all be quite perfect if it were not for another.
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