Tirade for Teemu Like a trickling stream that gathers into a raging torrent. Like a butterfly's wings that unleash the hurricane. You have become the bestial energy that powers our ship across these tortured oceans. You alone can make fertile these baron lands. The apprenticeship is over, come to us now. Yet like the Swedes who joined you in exile, You have been caught in the endless dithering of a lamentable GM. Who feeds on the bitter milk that trickles from his master's low-hanging breasts, And whose only redemption is the luck of the lottery, Massaged by the self-serving myopia of media poodles. But for those among these pages of unparalleled wisdom, Our fourth line spreads its legs for you, Welcoming you silently into its eager embrace, And awaiting your manifold truculence to liberate us, From the blackened earth scorched by years of an interminable rebuild. The horsemen are leaving now, Teemu. Your sweat will bring forth new bounties from these icy wastes, Your blood will help vanquish our foes, Your seed will once more make fertile the bars of Whyte Avenue. Take our hands and lead us to the promised land.