Henry the Hippo-- alright, that's it! You've crossed the line!
I'm longing so wistfully to see your blood shine!
You've pushed me to the edge of sanity--
Oh, sweet Bono, why me, why me?!

I wonder if I'll ever make a recovery?
Or shall I spend the rest of my life in therapy?
Can I wait for new seating at the end of the semester
When I can move away from your corpse, all a-fester?

Were you lying when you said you weren't coming back in fall?
I was hoping you'd cease to exist at all.
Although, what shall I write about when you are gone?
Shall I complain of Vermin or Devil's Spawn?

Every night, I pray to sweet Bono
That one day you'll die of pneumonia or mono.