It’s a no do-overs kind of fight
Precious names on the line
With the easel in the light
And the subject dim for miles
Come surround them while they work
Barking hard up their shoulders
Drumming fists all on their spines
Posting “Faster, I am right!”
A one mistake kind of game
An in and out kind of fame
If being nasty’s what it takes
Grab a fork, put down the cake
One side serves up all the blame
passed around from plate to plate
Stories definitely known
Like a game of telephone.
We only know what’s good for one
If that and still questioned
We always to try to help but
Please you are not helping
So put forgiveness on a rope
Use some bait and leash to choke
There is a known capacity
For a pure apology
And though the heap it grew and grew
Of the sorries spewed like spew
Once in an orchid blue moon
One was meant but still was strewn
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