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.