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BLAME THE SHEARS NOT THE TUNE

A French friend told me bluntly that if he was pruning the shrubs ( bushes ="arbustes" ) in his garden badly, it was because he was listening to my playlist. Blame the Shears Not the Tune The garden’s wild, the edges frayed, The shrubs look like they’ve lost their way, I tried to hum a little song, But the branches still grew wrong. The leaves are tangled, the lines unclear, I whispered notes, but they didn’t hear, A melody won’t fix this mess, It’s the tools, I must confess. If the arbustes are poorly trimmed, oh no, It’s not the fault of the music, you know, The rhythm sways, the beat is fine, But the shears didn’t toe the line. Blame the hands, blame the cut, Not the tune that lifts me up, If the shrubs are wild and free, It’s not the song, it’s not on me! I danced around with a cheerful sound, Hoping order would come around, The birds chimed in, the breeze was sweet, But the hedge still tripped my feet. A piano strum won’t shape the green, A lullaby won’t make it clean, The fault’s not in the harmony, It’s the pruning, can’t you see? If the arbustes are poorly trimmed, oh no, It’s not the fault of the music, you know, The rhythm sways, the beat is fine, But the shears didn’t toe the line. Blame the hands, blame the cut, Not the tune that lifts me up, If the shrubs are wild and free, It’s not the song, it’s not on me! The notes can soar, the chords can play, But bushes grow their own wild way, No symphony can guide the blade, No chorus fixes what’s been made. If the arbustes are poorly trimmed, oh no, It’s not the fault of the music, you know, The rhythm sways, the beat is fine, But the shears didn’t toe the line. Blame the hands, blame the cut, Not the tune that lifts me up, If the shrubs are wild and free, It’s not the song, it’s not on me! So sing along, let’s laugh it through, The shrubs don’t care what we pursue, The music’s good, the fault’s elsewhere, Blame the shears, not the air!