Quack (Quack)

What’s said to have no echo is the duck’s almighty quack.
Something sinister ducks are saying clearly isn’t coming back.
Those beady eyes and hardened bills
Missing feathers used for quills,
The ducks are plotting! So I say
In their peculiar sort of way,
Hanging out in parks and ponds
Listening to goings on
Of the men and women of the world
It’s time their plans were unfurled!
They talk with darker cosmic beings
That live behind the walls and ceilings
And when they squawk their awful quack
It’s gone and it’s not coming back.

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