Lest that disgusting fowl should maul
And eat it, olive-branch and all.
I mention this to mark the quaint
Notion of "Peace" the public has,
That wants to smear the Town with paint,
To whoop and jubilate and jazz;
And while our flappers beat the floor
There's Russia soaked in seas of gore,
And LENIN waxing beastly fat;
Nobody seems to think of that.