FED UP by BERTON BRALEY

[Apologies to J. K. Stephens.]

We are weary of opinion,
Of the supercilious crowd
Who hold sacrosanct dominion
Over magazines endowed;

For it is a fearful trial,
Which we suffer for no crime,
That the hands upon the @3Dial@1
Try to regulate our time.

Could we, with a knotty club, lick
Common sense into the wits
Who would mold the @3New Republic@1
On the old one's scattered bits?

Will there ever come a season
Which shall rid us of the curse
Of a shrill @3Appeal to Reason@1
Which is Bolshevik or worse;

When we'll dodge the fell afflatus
Of these brilliant hare-spring brains,
And the fates shall liberate us
From the @3Liberator's@1 chains?

Ah, with what unbounded glee, men
Will be filled upon the day
When the world is free of @3Freemen@1
And the @3Nations@1 pass away!

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