He perched upon his steely throne,
beset by plebs and debtors,
and made his judgement, more astute
than any man of letters:

"This usurper who bears no name -
he never sees the sun,
and thus daren't start his daily toil
'til evening has begun.

'Til the twilight bell doth knell
the pastures he'll surrender,
for in this land of habitudes
he is their one defender.

A rider came, with news; he has
conferred with his committee -
the dastard has concieved a plan
to **** and raze this city.

As such," continued on the king,
"'tis well within my reckoning
that any decent gent would not
to such a man be beckoning.

And therefore," he went on, "I do
declare that he and we are foes -
so, rally, soldiers! Go ye forth!
Let him regret the path he chose."

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
blinking from who-knows-how-far,
holding captive all our eyes,
muse for all our lullabies.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
how I wonder what you are.

Twinkle, twinkle, Milky Way,
cosmic star of cabaret,
filling up our eyes at night,
making moonlight shadows bright.
Twinkle, twinkle, Milky Way -
what a vision you display.

Twinkle, twinkle, galaxy,
often do I think of thee,
hurtling through time and space,
pirouetting in your place.
Twinkle, twinkle, galaxy -
Teach us all to be as free.

What is this? Is this addiction,
    that strange and sorrowful affliction,
a yearning for a certain friction,
    grasping like a seed to light?
What if now, in place of sinking,
    I fell apart and started thinking -
looking at myself unblinking -
    is this what I need tonight?