carefreedom

Driving past the wild wind washed fields of November.
As a poet I tend not to object to the bleaker weathers.
But this is testing me.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, my aunt Fanny.
To lift my spirits I begin to sing.
The song is a personal homage to the great Joan Baez.
My singing is perhaps marginally more heartfelt than hers.
It goes:

"Well my name is John McCain,
And I'm a working man.
Like President Bush before me,
I made a rebel stand.
Heelers knew that what he had to do,
Was put two grand on the one he thought was true.
The bookmaking man put the money in his big black sack,
And there's very little chance,
That he'll ever,
Give any of it back.
Oh, oh.
The night,
They drove old Heelers down,
All the bells were ringing,
The night they drove old Heelers down,
All the people were singing,
They were singing
Nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye, nye nye."

Such a song could cheer a dead man.
But there's more.
The second verse runs:

"Well my name is Ron Snurdface,
And I'm the head of the Johnston Press.
I woke up early one morning,
To find the place in a dreadful mess.
Some of my drones in Sector 7-G,
Had gone and fired Ireland's greatest living poet on me,
I asked them what the hell they thought they'd done,
They told me,
It was all,
Just for fun.
Oh, oh,
The night we drove old Heelers down,
All the bells were ringing,
The night we drove old Heelers down,
All the parvenus were singing,
They were singing,
Nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie, nie nie."

Heavens to Murgatroyd bold readers of the internet.
It's going to be a great November.