SONG OF THE CENSOR MAN
Oh, I am the man with a mightier pen
Than the chisel the lawgiver knew;
The snip of my shears is more dreaded of men
Than the sword that Napoleon drew.
I foil the young man with a nose for the news,
And I stifle the first feeble note
Of the soldier who ventures to air any views
That he never was paid to promote.
Oh, it’s snip, snip, snip is the rhythmic swing
Of my shears in the morning light,
And clip, clip, clip is the raucous ring
Of their voice in the starry night.
I may strike from the calendar all of its dates,
And I rob every town of its name,
And rarely a letter but sadly relates
The tale of my terrible fame.
Oh, I know all the secrets that ever were told,
Till every unfortunate prays
That the book of omnipotent knowledge I hold
May be sealed to the end of my days.
On each written syllable, proudly I state,
I pronounce benediction or ban;
For I’m the personification of Fate—
The redoubtable Censor man!
John Fletcher Hall,
Sgt., Inf., Acting Chaplain.