The mistress of mayhem stares in her purse then calls for her ministers then summons her nurse.
She's feeling the pinch of the wire as it bites as the monster raves from dark dizzying heights.
He's flown too high having plumbed the depths but she say's she's OK with very few regrets.
Her server is down which is such a Godsend now she has no more E-mails to fire to her friends,
As Emir's and Sheiks and duplicitous coves stock up her funds in her families treasure troves.
But if blame must be laid as she paper's the cracks then look no further than her own Democrats,
For God forbid, as the weakest candidate, she doesn't come second thereby sealing our fates.
. . . Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.