Foul knave that doth pollute fair society,
what sin so terrible to incur thou
hath we committed in our folly high?
Of normal past comes not this ugly wench.
A leftwing college did birth her, and then
upraised by Communists at their lawfirm.
Her masters descended from foreign lands
and minds: of Lenin and Moscow also KGB.
Such devilry thrust on us. O, dark days!
Endure this chican’ry no more can we,
hope fades, our land under blight, going dark.
But hark! A burst of light does yonder dance,
parting the grim and murky skies, lightning
that crashing low from high illuminates.
A mighty warrior, sword in hand, comes forth.
The shock, so great, drives many insane, and others
thus forced to see such filth, on their mind lock
is turned and they cry, “this sight unpleasant
for mine eyes, show me not, begone!”
But others are energized by the bolt,
and stirring, rising, clamoring, now join
their knight and forward against dark they march,
o’er dead gardens, black grass, into the Swamp,
where lizards, and snakes, even weasel, all manner
of evil spawned by wench, which long lurking
doing us great injurous harm, do finally
on their accursed neck receive pointed sword.
The freedom hating foreign loving wench
up next does yell then cry then trembling
away runs underneath pungent stinking bog
and there tries hiding but to no avail.
The men ahead continue to her end,
another bolt strikes her down incinerated.
The clouds away give to glorious sun
and for the first time hence many years the people
and warrior rejoice with optimism.