Is her syndrome pure Picard?
Doesn’t matter. Blame the Bard.
Does his beard put Rapunzel to shame?
Doesn’t matter. The Bard’s to blame.
Do those who go ’round telling tales
Have responsibility when moral fails?
Yes, they do. Hail, and well-met:
They’ve done us wrong. Do not forget.
Bards sing for their supper. Well, a supper bland
Awaits any unpleasing band.
So they play the tunes we want to hear,
And if truth is fuzzy and lies are clear
Blame both teller, and the tale,
And also, the listener. Because your fail
Drives the lies, and drives the liars
Extinguishes nothing. Lights more fires.
But lies you want, for lies are sweet.
I ask you this alone, if we should meet:
Let me tell you a tale to make you smile,
And I, in turn, with no inch of guile,
Will take your wallet, and tell you, sadly,
It’s the way of the world, and the world goes badly.
And if you choose belief without question,
Be lucky your wallet’s my only contestion
For I could take your heart and leave you
In a tub of ice, conceive you
As a dying soul, of organs bereft
And if you and your life are cleft,
Worry not. Just trust the Bard.
Don’t be surprised. Didn’t I say,
“Life is hard”?
