Republic in Wonderland

One draught doth make thee lofty, And one draught makes thee slight, And the vials that thy mother gives thee Do naught to set thee right. Bow to Donald, When he’s Eight Miles High.

And if thou pursue yon rabbits, And dost fall, despite thy might, Tell them a short-fingered vulgarian Hath whispered through the night. He murmured thus to Epstein, When they were seeking mites.

When the kkknights upon the chessboard Arise and bid thee seek, And thou hast nibbled of the fungus And thy thoughts do feel quite weak. How doth it feel, thou MAGA Dormouse, To become such a freak?

When reason and proportion Have lost their tidy thread, And the Orange KKKnight speaks in riddles And Mock Turtle tears are shed Over Charlie Kirk’s demise. Heed their lies! Heed their lies!