This, once majestic, banner
Serves as callous camouflage
For ice-cold greed and flaming hate.
Dark past arises,
Like feted swollen corpses,
From history’s depths,
Soured by denial’s weight,
They illuminate our souls,
these risen horrors.
Our reactions shine the light
Upon our spirits inner core.
The Pipers grin, and fan this Flag debate,
incite this nation to gyrate.
Now some of us think, “Ain’t this great!”,
as we leap right into that quagmire,
dance St. John’s dance and hallucinate
as if inflamed by St. Anthony’s fire.
Those evil minstrels must think us fools,
gullible, unthinking tools.
They build a madcap set of rules
And watch the herd beasts prance.
If we give in to these evil ghouls,
we all will swing in St. Vitus’ dance.
You can love your flag or scream and shout,
but I think I’ll sit this dance out.
Surely we can figure how
To release this sacred cow!
Call it heritage or call it hate,
free it now.
It’s not too late!