The bacchanal abactor is back again,
To play his gamewith a beele;
Drives his hunt away to the unknown,
This cacogen is wild and rides like a claviform.
Repudiated by his folks,
He is in folklore's and limericks;
His heroics though reprehensible,
He lives and is a true fabulist.
Today the fandango has changed,
He no more rushes for the wild;
This concrete jungle has more for him,
There is more in the life of human being.
He sneaks in the darkness,
Drives like a claviform in flight;
To hunt his prey - this time cold blooded,
This brings in dosh, loaded.
His is fatidical and happy with his mactation,
No more in folklore and limericks;
But in the gazetter every day,
Hides in the magnality grottos of today.
He is many faces and many names,
With one mission of obliteration;
His mammonism is immense,
His death brings in more manace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.