If there will be a tolerating of a metered Tapping
Of finicky high pitch the flipping of flapping
If domino fingers find dancing refinement as pins in the roll of the promenade brigade

Then command to attention each private and captain, each Sergeant, lieutenant, Commander in Chief, and deputy director,  please seniors and majors...I've called an assembly, I'd like to keep brief.

To even presume some desire is pouncing, waiting in ready to Connect on Command, as if orders have issued external assignment, a repose from an otherwise comical stand.

There is nothing more perfect, and no one more clever, no motive for power 'scuse a Daft Rumour Spreader.

Just simply a-script from a quick keene observer, that was shoved to the seat like some kind of Sacrificial Meat.

In A-gaze, Stiff as Steel-Steering of hands
Gripping heat on the wheel in the front of this Monster Truck Madness Ordeal.

It's easy to jeer, laugh, joke and sneer from the drunk, detached comfort of Stadium Beer.

But, Wait, a Reminder!!
We are all in the Boat!
Don't yell at the driver
Then claim not to Float.

Oh, so I see, it's clearly
just innocence
do forgive me,
Cause it comes from the jarring, and scarring, manure in air, that boasts of boldly stout cheering fanfare, clamoring, yammering, death rally hammering, celebrating dirtiest, grittiest, most Carelessly Daring.

Why would the crowd be gathered if not to service-us with shocking engagement to consummate longing for Death's-Entertainment?

I've always found this sinister trait in human beings grossly Un-great.