Des Künstlers Fisch

In the lives of great artists, much remains unclear,
Things that the average guy on the street will never hear.
I’m finally clearing up a doubt that’s been around:
Why was Franz Schubert kicked out of the Three Maidens' house?

The sun's golden shimmer
Dances through summer in Vienna.
Mrs. Schubert cleans the rooms
With diligence and turpentine.
She comes to the piano
With her feather duster in hand,
But she’s almost lost for words:
There’s a fish in the grand.

Mrs. Schubert wants no pet,
And immediately calls for her son:
"Franz, come and take this out of here!"
And Franz says, "I’ve already done."
He hid the fish in a bottle,
The fish was damp and lean,
And carried it in his pocket
Wherever he went, it reeked obscene.

The problem with fish is,
If it’s not kept nice and cool,
It quickly loses its freshness,
And even Franz can feel that rule.
For when he asks a girl nearby
If he can hold her hand,
She just shouts, "Franz, get lost,
You smell way too damn strong!

You might be a genius,
And you compose pretty well,
But you’ll never be my suitor
With that tired old fishy smell."
So on every doorstep,
Franz has already been chased away,
And it’s the trout’s fault
That’s rotting in his pants today.

The old saying goes, and it’s true and wise:
"Through the misfortunes of others, the observant become wise."
From this little tale about Schubert, we learn:
When you go to see a woman, leave the carp in the piano!