In the hope of new November

In the hope of new November comes a day we shall remember, if Goodbye shall be the sender of Obama out the door, for the White House is a-smolder with ideas burning older as they twist in furls of falsehood that all patriots abhore, and our buckets are all ready and our brushes, wet and steady, will be cleaning out the hallways for the sons of freedom’s lore. Ready, heave! shoot the water splashing! Make the rats in suds go smashing up against the curbs outside—and by the chair of emptiness forever to abide!

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