With the light of a full moon so far out of reach,
Sometimes it is hard to discern white smoke at night escaping from the breech.
Despite having all the ducks safely aligned in a row,
Sometimes tall grass is just too hard to mow.
No more thinking we are close to finding a leader,
When all the Stick Man wants to do is stab a new bleeder.
So now we sit back with a fine bottle of wine,
And allow it to age until it is the right time.