The New Year of the Performing Monkeys

See-no-evil banged the drum,
while Hear-no-evil sang.
Speak-no-evil did not show,
so, the Fiddler owned the band.
She bowed her strings without a smile;
mouth kept tightly shut
in case some evil rose up from
the conscience in her gut.
See-no-evil, he was blind
to all her slight of hand.
Hear-no-evil, claimed was deaf
to the fiddler’s g-string plans.
She fiddled songs of heartaches.
She fiddled tearful airs.
She fiddled tunes of loss
as long as no loss was hers.
Blindly loved then Deafly loved
as the fiddler cast her spell.
Oh, you evil little pixie, you
think you fiddle spells so well.
But, I’ve been outside in the audience
and my hearing is astute;
I’m not blind to the fact
that you think you’re very cute.
I’ve heard that you’re a user
and I see you get your way.
You may bow faster than a whirlwind
but your writing is child’s play.
You’re a thief. You’re a tyke
and your sham is not engaging.
You might know how to fiddle
but your pixie face is aging.
There are five monkey senses
that match our human race --
there’s sight, sound, sense and smell
but what’s missing here is taste.
My name is Taste-no-evil
and if I joined your band
I’d spit out the sour taste
of your fiddling command.