The silence is long but the voices are golden
And BS is poor when 'tis only beholden
But free BS songs, as in times that were olden
Shall rise in Mom's parlor before her tent's folding.

Let chimes and let harmonies rise from our breast
And form from ether mom"s bright golden crest
The bold rampant Taurus, the prince of BS
The brightest, the loudest, the drollest, the best.

The Booqueman, the Gnuzer, the bold BWL
The ambiguous Dwyer from the fa Dallas knell
The Emm-Man, the Hawkster, with his creatures so fell,
And other stray poets too random to tell.

As our Mom seems to languish, they will not stand by
Nor idly observe with superior eye
But will leap to the fray, letting loud BS fly
To raise her once more to her station on high.

With Donder and Blitzen they will loudly proclaim
The Dwarfs they'll invoke, each summoned by name
And all of the old gods will dance to the flame
Lit by heros of MOAB to lift up her name.