[Verse 1] In the Kingdom of Maybe, 'neath the clock tower’s chime, A loose little shutter kept flapping in time. The steward said, “Tomorrow, I’ll fasten that pane,” Then poured himself tea and forgot it again. The cobbler saw a hole just under a sole, A stitch before supper could make it whole. He said, “It’s no trouble; I’ll do it at dawn,” By dawn, half the leather and both feet were gone. [Chorus] When the bucket is dripping, we call it a trifle, When the ceiling is falling, we call for a rifle. The nail waits politely, the hammer grows wise— We praise little problems till the big one arrives. If easy feels needless and urgent feels late, We polish the lock while we’re burning the gate. [Verse 2] The mayor found a crack in the town’s little dam, A hairline, he said, “Not a crisis, good man.” Then formed a committee to study the weight. They scheduled a meeting to circle the date, The river kept humming; the minutes marched on, The committee’s table grew polished and strong. When water came roaring through market and square, They voted unanimously: “Someone should care.” [Chorus] When the bucket is dripping, we call it a trifle, When the ceiling is falling, we call for a rifle. The nail waits politely, the hammer grows wise— We praise little problems till the big one arrives. If easy feels needless and urgent feels late, We polish the lock while we’re burning the gate. [Bridge] The jester advised them, “Repair what is small; A crumb in the hinge is less trouble than a wall.” They asked for his figures, his sources, his chart— He pointed at the leak and said, “There’s the first part.” [Verse 3] So now every morning, the kingdom declares, “We’ll mend the loose shutters and straighten the chairs.” They make grand proclamations, then sharpen a quill, To promise tomorrow with excellent skill. And I, with my bells and my patched motley coat, Sing softly of boats while they argue the moat. The moral is simple, though kings hate the sound: A problem ignored makes the problem compound. [Final Chorus] When the bucket is dripping, don’t call it a trifle, Don’t wait for the ceiling to call for the rifle. Take up the hammer while two hands are free— The smallest repair is the cheapest decree. If easy feels needless and urgent feels late, Do one little thing before tempting your fate. The mind calls for leisure, but here’s the true art: Fix what is fixable before it falls apart [Outro] The shutter still flaps by the old palace wall— Tomorrow, dear friends, we’ll repair it all.
