I say bring on the winter of our discontent
Where, not content to be,
We'll yet wallow in frantic outrage
At benighted refuseniks who call us lemmings
For, they say, docilely leaping off vaccine cliffs
Onto the rocks below.
But we, who are not shaped for heroic stunts
Intend but to cover our asses
And plow on as best we can,
Ruing the feeble hand we are dealt
To weather this intractable protraction
Of the lurking doom.
And therefore, since we cannot prove ourselves victor
Over that galling protein of spike,
Let us bring out the inner cynic and
Perversely point out the boiling rot
In the content of our global character;
Then, come what may, shrug..