Corona! Corona!
in fair Verona
where we lay our scene.
from forth the fatal loins
of these Viral Visigoths
a new set of protocols
with recriminations,
reverberations,
ramifications,
yet unseen.
holy shits!
here comes the Dark Man!
walking the highway
clicking the asphalt
flicking the ash heap
strolling the silence
with a sinister smile
and an evil plan.
holy shits!
here comes Captain Trips!
nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide,
with no help at hand.
all that is left,
is to have the mettle
and be ready to take
an Honest Fucking Stand.
Corona! Corona!
from Beijing to Boston
Bristol to Belgrade
Bombay to Barcelona.
advertenica! advertencia!
we need help from
the intelligentsia.
could it be that
in this age of Skyping,
the Visigoths are now Vikings?
communicating the disease
into oceans, lakes, rivers, and seas;
stealthy, sneaky, stowaway spies
spreading the sickness in the expanse of the skies.
oh dear, pray tell: is it really true?
an actual epidemic?
or just a very serious flu?
could it be that it’s all for naught, and only a ruse?
manufactured distress by the modern fake news?
or should we be scared? do we stay in?
is it fear they are mongering?
felicitaciónes!
a todos!
todavía somos vivos!
que emociónes!
here we are together as kin
together again.
what’s the plan, Stan?