Away in Headquarters
An agent did sleep
Unaware of the fic that
Would soon make her weep.
A bottle of Bleeprin
Lay drained in her palm;
The harsh lights were dimméd
And all there was calm.

Her dreams were of canon,
Of good, long-gone days
When Mary Sues were not
And Upstairs gave pay;
Her slumb’ring form smiléd
On the rough-cut chair:
For this kind of moment in
The PPC is rare.

Now, dreams can be great things,
But morning comes soon
With grey-walled monotony
And uncanon gloom,
For then the cruel console
Cut short her deep sleep
So cold and unfeeling
As to loudly [BEEEEEP!].