• The few and the proud,
    Not army indeed,
    We O' the Writers,
    Demolish mortal greed.
    Or perhaps induce it, you see.
    So join, meet the others, set cold stone aside,
    And meet so many others, who share your great pride.

    Our hearts are of stone,
    O, well this we know true,
    Poets are sad,
    Depressed through and through.

    Writers are witty,
    And cunning at least,
    We are superior,
    Our pen is our beast.

    Song writers fit,
    In the same category,
    The emotions confessed,
    In one massive sea.

    Now all of us joined,
    Are quite scary to say,
    And personally like,
    It exactly that way.
    Some are not like this,
    With hearts not black holes,
    But honestly the superiors,
    Are not held by the folds...

    We, all us writers,
    Of pen and our ink,
    Are among the most clever,
    We do like to think.
    And lo and behold!
    Often are we right,
    Such spiteful creatures,
    That do love to write...

    So come now join hands,
    In harmony preach,
    That these foolish mortals,
    Will fall to our speech...
    And do not feel bad,
    To kill off the leech.

    And if you were wondering,
    And I know that you were,
    I am truly using,
    These words as a lure...
    Come now you writers,
    Use your skills great!
    Stand up and show me,
    What I'll appreciate!
    I wish to see writing,
    From far and from near!
    Because to never read any words,
    Is my greatest fear...