It makes me want to sing! (and Don McClean is turning over in his grave. I know he's still alive!)
STARI, STARI, night.
Paint your pallor blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With ticks that know the darkness in my soul.
Vermin laden hills,
Scratch my knees and take some pills,
Catch disease and other ills,
Of horrors spawned from southern backwoods land.
Now you understand what I tried to say to ya,
How you suffered tularemia,
Now you fight with edema.
You would not listen, you did not know how.
Perhaps you'll listen now.