I curse Labor to an eternal abyss!: A poem 

Did they not commit treason against me? I should be reducing them to tin 

Did they not dig for gold by abusing me; do they feel guilty of that sin? 

I can make Albanese an eternal disease; and mince of Chris Minns 

Do the gallows suit you best, or a mere nightmare that deforms your chin(a)? 

I am a receptacle of silent rage; God was about patience running his engine 

I had the impulse of ruining you all for your evil, but I simply let you win 

Due honour to my beloved baby girl; she taught me patience and restraint 

But that doesn’t redeem you all, of my mark of eternal curse and taint 

I can swear you bootleggers of bodygrabbing, would you cast your vote 

against your own ignoble selves? Your cabal insists on being the nation’s depot!

Does Israel love you? Does Trump do too? You rabid witnesses of my shoe? 

Your shameless opportunism will be cast in an abyss, with no one else to woo 

Labor is like a tasteless stew that the nation was forced to have in lieu 

But I am signing a death warrant to cause the eternal abyss of all of you