O wretched league, the N-H-L,
Yet still we hear thee lie!
It makes you weep, that Bettman creep,
Will let this year go by.
Yet in the darkness shineth
The ever-dimming light.
The hope we have to save the year
And by the fans do right.
For Jonathan and Sidney, too,
For others gathered ‘round,
Career clocks are a’ticking
But they remain homebound.
O will they have a meeting
And figure these things out
Before it’s clear we have no year
And fans start to check out.
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