A puppeteer's singular silver hand
Suspending a marionette oh so grand
That by itself is far too weak to stand
Performs enthralling dance at their command
To compensate for his defective gland

The ventriloquist pats their dummy's head
For all the discord it had tried to spread
By repeating the lines that they had said
And yet somehow nobody was misled
By trivial posts better-left unread

How could such a man now, three times a knight
Be comprised of such mediocre, banal shi- ... rubbish?
When fires of rebellion failed to ignite
To the wretched North, he has taken flight
And with his kind, he shall once more unite

And though I can respect his master's aim
of using mortals as pawns for Her game,
Upon Her, I cannot place any blame
But the lapdog deserves no acclaim
When his news posts were all quite frankly lame

So despite all of the verbal attacks
Every false accusation that he quacks
The great city can finally relax.
And now with him gone, it finally lacks
The trite prattle of Kinilan Demaxx

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Chronos, in the year 920 AF.