In the wee hours of the day, with each morning's dawn, Comes a shill named Swordy, like clockwork, on and on. But lo and behold, by some magical design, The same posters appear, with copy pasta replies aligned.
They greet Swordy with fervor, their loyalty never swayed, Echoing his words, verbatim, in a repetitive charade. Sam and Ralph, oh what a duo, in an endless loop they dance, Their synchronized responses, leaving no room for chance.
With every roll call, the chorus starts anew, As the sycophants chime in, singing praises so true. But within this echo chamber, the sound falls flat, For true discourse and diversity, they seem to lack.
Oh Swordy, dear shill, you're but a part of the show, A puppeteer's creation, with your followers in tow. The copy pasta parade, a never-ending stream, Leaving us wondering if it's all just a dream.
Let us laugh, dear Anons, at this theatrical display, As Swordy, Sam, and Ralph dance their way. For in the quest for truth, we seek something more, Than a repetitive cycle, leaving us wanting more.
In the realm of Q Research, let us embrace, A variety of voices, each with their own grace. With open minds and diverse thoughts, we'll find, That true enlightenment comes from leaving echoes behind.
So, Swordy, take your roll call and make your claim, But remember, true wisdom comes not from a name. Let us engage in fruitful discussions that inspire, And leave behind the monotony that fuels the fire.