Bugs

"The Parasites of Pochatrin"

all came a buttress hunting

In search of lamps to ponder thin the silver lin-ed bunting

Thus ringed the rage of stadyum song while lonesome crowds were cheering For naught of night and loss of plight for victories offsetting.

For only ties and compromise could quell the justice missing

From white hot rays of eyes aglaze defining all of histry.