THE LOSER ©
Once there was a loser with a funny tash,
he couldn't sell a painting, nor a Riechmark stash.
But he was good at mouthing, to a frenzied mob,
He would rave, rant and slaver, from his ugly gob.
It wasn't long before the mob, to his thinking were turned around,
So it came to pass that Europe, once again became a battleground.
Bombs and burning everywhere, nothing could be protected.
Then bright boys in the German Camp, thought the monster should be ejected.
So one brave lad with a satchel, into which a bomb had been stuffed,
Strolled nonchalantly into the meeting, and greeting a bloke, just coughed,
"I am expecting an urgent phone call, may I leave my bag I beg."
And when the bloke solemnly nodded, he shoved it behind the table leg.
Our Hero had just got clear of the building, when with such an awful roar,
All the windows blew outwards, dust and debris in the air did soar.
But the loser was at the other end, and missed most of the blast,
staggered right out with that thing under his snout, that someone had singed at last.
Thousands went to the gallows; most were strung up with wire,
The monster stood there with a stony glare, and his handy work did admire.
But the thug knew it was all over, and on the final day,
Issued a page that most read in rage, because it went on to say.
"The Führer has fallen fighting. Fighting to the last!"
But down in a bunker deep, things were happening real fast.
Hitler wed and toasted Eva with poison, then shot himself through the head,
But some say he hadn't the guts, and someone else shot him instead.