Chewing his gums, Wilson smiles.
His deadly yello teeth snarling
at the longing
for devils and eye-witnesses.
For the time has come,
and Wilberforce must be Exonerated
from the deadliness surrounding
the parsnips of evil:
The Spuds of Sin/
So, you good souls, close your huchnesses
of enamel choppers
and forever hear the cry
of the ghost of Wilberforce...
"Oh bring me the dead turnips who lie
exposed to the deadly hand of
Wilson the Whuckler, let them be buried
in peace, near the soul of macabre caggabage trees who boast
Of the death of their fellow compatriot, the pea with split personalities,
The vice from which all Rhubarb springeth.
And rocks the world in its contentment.
Shame and hurbelige !
Rocking with its inner consciousness
Dead with anger for the soul of Wilberforce
For He Is Forever Banquished
From the kingdom of posterity.