Confess, ye armies of the night:
This was the week that shook the right.
In Charlottesville Black Lives Matter
Handed our heads to us on a platter;
Poor Robert Spencer, pepper in his eyes,
His own pain drowning victims' cries,
Called the day a sure round win -
That wheel, alas, was still in spin.
He’d not yet heard of what went down,
And when he did he had to frown;
The verdict's in, though facts are faint:
The right raised hell, the left a saint.
With all mainstream then out for blood,
It fell to Trump to calm the flood;
He had to think, not lose his head,
So he offered up poor Steve's instead.
Then after Spain, how to combat
The journos screaming copycat?
Oh the irony, the cruel, cruel ploy:
The right made Islam's whipping boy!
More victims followed, - Russian, Finnish,-
But Charlottesville none could diminish.
Then monuments fell thick and fast,
As progs began to cull the past;
“Where will it end? asked Mister Trump.
Answer: white culture in the dump.
Right on the heels of Robert E. Lee
The living with the dead shall be;
In Canada our Faith got the ax
For being right with the wrong kind of facts.
Now you know and can take for granted
What falls when Blood and Soil is chanted:
Left gets the blood and Right gets planted.