Patchie, patchie; wherefore art thou

Patchie, o’patchie comst thy now?

Better bequeathed am I to find,

A missing computer, than no patchie of mine.

Nights awake, rumination so deep

Forlorn ist me, for I cannot sleep.

Strange men bellowing in my selection screen,

Perhaps patchie is nearer than he may seem?

Fall I finally, fast asleep

And dream I of Feitoria, a land so sweet.

Then I stir, I wake and I weep,

O-please patchie when shall we meet?

Nonetheless I return to my slumber,

And think I of the Dev Team’s number.

Small yet powerful, humble yet keen

And know I patchie makes haste to my screen.