The country’s headed straight to Hell.
This truth is pretty much agreed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

Some want to blunder on, pell-mell.
Some utter prophecies to heed.
The country’s headed straight to Hell.

Oh, everybody knows the smell!
The maggots squirm, the roaches breed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

An evil wizard cast a spell.
His name was Abe, his motive greed.
The country’s headed straight to Hell.

How many knights in anguish fell!
What faltered? The heroic deed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

Were the slaves freed — or did we sell
as slaves those who had long been freed?
The country’s headed straight to Hell.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

​You had fond memories of dismal days
and thus returned to Ireland when you could.
If only we could imitate your ways!

Turns out that unpaid labor truly pays.
You were enslaved and generated good.
You had fond memories of dismal days

as only heroes can. The lad who prays
may confidently do the deeds he should.
If only we could imitate your ways

of sainthood! We instead make vain displays
of piety in safety’s neighborhood.
You had fond memories of dismal days,

but we cling to our pleasures, begging praise
for tiny things. At ease in this dark wood,
if only we could imitate your ways!

​Well, we’re mere sheep — and thus content to graze.
We listened — but we never understood.
You had fond memories of dismal days.
If only we could imitate your ways!

​The Red Wave didn’t happen. No surprise
To me. It was a prophecy too good
For zombies such as us to realize.
We ain’t in no triumphant neighborhood.
Progressives cheated, sure. We knew they would.
But did they need to cheat to hold at bay
The promised wave? As if mere cheating could!
Truth is that cheating’s just the game they play.
They have to keep in practice. But today
It’s clear, if it was not quite clear before,
That, ever since the Blue Boys beat the Gray,
This country’s been an unrepentant whore.
Since then, there never has been power to save
In any damn imaginary wave.

​The Yankee literati couldn’t bear
A Southern gentleman like Mr. Poe.
Judgmental in their absolutist lair,
They scoffed at Southern genius. Even so
It always is with lamps that truly glow
In the thick dark that apes normality.
Into obscurity must such lights go!
To such truth, how can puffed-up frauds agree?
The messengers of mediocrity
Pushed hard. It seemed that excellence was dead.
The lies of Griswold spread alarmingly.
Delighted Yankees on that poor corpse fed--
But did not long enjoy their ghoulish feast.
Who raised Poe from defeat? Les symbolistes!

​The Empire is collapsing as we speak.
Why is the Emperor still full of pride?
He’s naked – and we see that he’s a freak.
The Empire is collapsing as we speak.
In history, such moments aren’t unique.
The evidence is always, though, denied.
The Empire is collapsing as we speak.
Why is the Emperor still full of pride?

Ty Seidule has victory at last
Against the dead, whom fiercely he’s maligned.
A whole new set of base names is assigned.
The present can obliterate the past.
The heroes that he never would have sassed
Back when they rode for Dixie, steely-spined,
Titanic Ty can now, delighted, grind
Into the dust.  It happened really fast.
Behold:  progressive forces celebrate
Ty’s triumph over every Rebel name!
Greatness lies redefined – not by the great
But by the petty.  They pursue an aim
Too trivial for noble souls to state.
Dwight Eisenhower hangs his head in shame.
​

The unipolar world is at an end--
Which suits me fine. The Yankees went too far,
As Yankees always go. Now they descend.
I’m watching their imaginary star
Plummet. The tortured earth it’s sure to scar
Again – a sort of global spouse abuse.
But keep the victim handcuffed? No cigar.
Expecting that, the Yankees prove obtuse
Beyond their former measure. Fast and loose
They’ve played since 1860. For a while,
It served them well. But now, neck in the noose,
Their empire will be throttled, and in style.
And all of the disasters that we see?
Predicted by the Last of Heroes, Lee.