They came through on an island
They’re on an isle no more
They came down from the highlands
Some scattered on the shore

The passage a secure one
Back through the mists of time
The path once they had begun
Turned into quite a climb

Some sign for the high road
Some sign for the low
Some signed on and were told
They didn’t have to go

The sinners and the shriners
Signed someone else’s name
Some thought all the signers
Should be reduced the same

Dissent from distant fathers
In bubbling caldrons brewed
Built up tremendous bothers
The sauce for seasons stewed

Served cold a late night supper
Between both bath and bed
Still shorted by the cupper
With out a slice of bread

Drawn into dark quarters
With all night for the mares
The Sergeant of the sorters
Discerns the chaff and tares


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