The ancient Greeks had their rules about drama. One of the big ones was founded on the very core of human reality: Nobody's perfect. Every hero had a weakness, a flaw, a means for the storyteller to bring about an end.

What fun is there in perfection, anyway? Why would you want to be so sublime and flawless? The quirks of personality are sometimes the hardest parts of life, but sometimes the most significant. It's the shadow in everyone's background that add meaning to the everyday: there will be stumbles. Humans rise up, and they fall.

Take that inevitable fall, translate it into iambic pentameter, set it with the Romans instead of the Greeks, and you'll understand how B. Seagulls - Proud of IMA found the tragedy in one man attempting to rescue his vehicular kin:

H2, Brute?: an Ode

Ami in peril, to him I trot
And drive my car up to that spot
Through which his Hummer left this mortal coil

No thoughts I give to why he fell
In to the icy wint'ry hell
So dead, and yet so far above the soil

I pin the gas—all four wheels fly
Their grip in vain, but still they try
To grab the glassy surface of the lake

But lo! My ears, a crack they hear
The splint'ring ground suddenly sheer
Our Hummers twain, felled by the same mistake

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Photo credit: Davide Simonetti