I’ve got an itch; inside my brain;
it is called a cliq,
they build a wall; slate by hate;
to make the room so sick,
mob handed; they decide,
who is in, and out,
for lesser kings and queens; do need
to make their curse and shout,
such affliction; friend’s decay,
the fume is proud and thick,
so nice a cure; to hear it so,
the cricking of a cliq!
(N.B. A foreign flame in homely throng,
sometimes can right every wrong!)