The Looney Charade

How long must I wait for hate to subside,
So the thinness of your skin will reside?
Utopian rants of the Looney charade,
Proves the truth you want to evade.

How I rejoice each time you give whine,
To the words in the verses I design.
You call me names as a child of the spite,
Whose thin skins responds with a fight.

Yearning to be right is always your plight,
And when you are wrong you’ll skip the contrite,
Believing like fools that all must embrace,
The philosophy of your hallowed disgrace.

The story of Looney proves your baffoonery,
As the hot air used for balloonery.
You call me delusional with nothing exceptional,
While you can’t even write words that are seasonal.

How I crave to see something other than hate,
From such a thin skinned fool so irate.
The Looney desire for a utopian dream,
Is just the same dumb lib’ral theme.

So if it sounds like a duck with a quack
And it walks like a duck with a knack
For wide flat feet, a bill, a wing
Chances are good it’s the truth that I sing.

So send me an article I can rip into pieces,
Watching as your blood pressure increases,
Making it obvious who should take lithium,
And who really lives in delirium.