Three in the space of seven days?! Oh, I am *so* sorry! I've already called Oprah and there are no plans to do a show on people suffering from a compulsion to parody Al Stewart songs, so I'll just have to seek less conventional therapy, like booze.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima (yet) culpa!

Contritely yours,

Brian

Oh you all rushed out,
When you heard about,
Al's disc, _Between the Wars_,
And with cash in hand
You roamed the land,
And searched for it in stores.
Then you all sent raves
On your latest faves
To our confraternity,
And you couldn't wait,
All the songs to rate
For St. Nick of the Polling See.

Oh you chewed your nails
Till you checked your mail
And the ballot had arrived.
And your scores you changed
To his altered range,
So they'd average out to five.
Then you cast your mind
Oe'r Al's tunes and lines,
And you answered Section Three.
When you'd filled it in,
Then you clicked on 'Send'
To St. Nick of the Polling See.

Now it's in his hands,
As our scores began
Arriving by the bunch.
And the numbers feed
Into his spreadsheet,
And he listens as they crunch.
In his strange patois
The statistics raw
He discusses mystic'ly;
None understands
The Cosmic Plans
Of St. Nick of the Polling See.

Now our breath we 'bate,
And we all await
Pontifical results.
The white smoke ascends
And our cyberfriends
'We have a Poll!' exult.
Now his praises chime
(And his name should rhyme
With a bubbly jacuzzi).
But when your song's last place,
Don't deny the grace
Of St. Nick of the Polling See.

Brian L Chaffin (chaff002@maroon.tc.umn.edu)