Out of the shame that covers me,
   Black as crude oil from poll to poll,
I think, whatever voters see,
   I'll stay unconquered on the whole.

In the fell clutch of public woes
   I have not winged, but to posh friends.
While from the ire of party foes
   My back is scarred, yet their dream ends.

Beyond 'This Place' of managed fears
   Looms but the feebleness of age,
And yet the menace of my peers,
   Earns my contempt - they take my wage.

It matters not how charged my slate,
   How dire the pains they hope I'll thole,
I am the con man of this State:
   I am the man your futures stole.

                    (Apologies to W. E. Henley)