More rapid than vultures his coursers they came,
And they ducked and they shouted, and he called them by name.
"On Danny! On Charlie!
On James, Robin and Chris!
C'mon you assholes! You can do better than this!
To the top of the speaker stack, to the top of the drum kit,
If you don't do what I want, I'll throw your ass in the pit!
Like a wet keyboard that before a wild hurricane flies
Let's play this show before the sound system dies!"
So, up to the housetop his coursers they flew
With a Porsche full of goodies, and St. Reznor, too.
And then, I had an inkling of what he planned to do
As I heard the stomping of each combat shoe.
As I drew in my head, and was straining for the sound,
Down the chimney St. Reznor came with a bound.
He was dressed all in black leather, from his head to his toes:
How long it took him to get into that outfit, God only knows!
A collection of cables he had flung on his back,
He looked vaguely like a roadie with an amplifier jack.
His eyes how they glittered, his freckles, how merry!
His cheeks were so pale, the effect was a little scary.
His droll little mouth held a slight sneer,
Lily and I couldn't believe he was actually here!
The remains of a prop dead animal he held tight in his teeth,
No doubt to provoke, and give the activists grief.
He had a gaunt face, and a skinny tummy,
but when he finally grinned, his smile was quite gummy.
He was definitely a roguish little devil
And it took quite a bit to keep my head level.
A wink of his eye and a "twist" of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He said not a word, but went straight to his work,
plugging in the cables, then he turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger aside his nose,
Giving us a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to the Porsche, to the band gave a yell,
Then proceeded to lead us through the nicest parts of hell.
And I heard him exclaim, as he roared out of sight,
"The pigs have won tonight, now they call all sleep soundly, and everything is all right."
Happy birthday, Trent....
-- procyon