Saturday, October 4, 2025

All The World Is Mad But Me comical song 668 by Angela Lansbury

 

Let's agree half the world is mad

We know the other half is bad

I'm looking for a new, sane, friend

It's hopeless. Sometimes I feel sad


A few decades before my time

Smart but mad women won the vote

Yet now some think black cats rule life 

What's superstition's antidote?



The streets are full of people who

Wear masks and scarves and funny hats

Religious, football, uniforms

You need ten hats to join all that


Party politics divides them

Plus the graffiti on the wall

If my only friends were those who're sane

I'd have no friends at all


I understand teenagers

Who want to raise their voice

But I have to be quiet

I do not have a choice


I have friends of all religions

And skins of every hue

And every kind of politics

And superstitions too


Some think that God spoke to them

Some believe in the big bang

Some think home school, and no rules

Others that insulters should hang


Some won't eat pig, some won't eat beef 

Some won't eat lamb, some won't eat meat, 

No fish, raw fish, no milk, no eggs 

Be gluten free, no sugar, what's left to eat?


As for me, today's thoughts

Keep quiet is what life's taught

Hunters, don't show what you've caught

Or all your friendships come to naught


An theist, agnostic, or a humanist

A left wing, right wing, woke or communist

If I told my friends they are wrong

I'd never be kissed and never missed


So if you want to know what I believe

I believe there is no need

For me to stir the water

Upset your transgender daughter


And if I have a special diet

I shall try to keep quiet

Yet some things have gone the other way

I can say I'm dying and sick today


I can't fly the flag of my nation

But can mention menstruation

I don't know where this debate will end

But hope to keep all my batty friends


If I'd known my husband was a rocker

But next weekend was a mod

I'd have had tears, not fifty years

With one who won't believe in God


Because people who at first seem sane

Are secretly mad, but I don't complain

For though it drives me up the wall

If I stuck to the sane, I'd have no friends at all.

-ends-

How to convert a poem to neat eight syllables in every line?

I saved a syllable by replacing only wih just.



No comments:

Post a Comment