A poem for Chad
In the Years of Primal Intercourse, in the dawn of terrestrial birth, Chad mastered every 3+/10 Stacey, and Chad was the Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of her holy tree, He compassed her earth therien, and Chad was the Lord of the Stacie.
He controlled the vigour of her steam, he harnessed the personality for hire; He drove out the incels with a scream, and Chad was the Lord of the Liar.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs of the Stacies declare The last of the incels defeated, for Chad is the Lord of our Lair.
Arise, O Chad, in thou strength! the kingdom is yours to inherit, Till the incels realise they must bring back Jesus, the Lord of his spirit.