2011 - Day 166

Follow the path till you can't no more,
Then keep on movin' till your feet are sore,
Until you can't make it another millimeter,
That's where you'll find Mr.Magizeetereater.

He sits on his swirling purple singing chair,
That lifts him and flips him high up in the air,
He'll call down to you with his squeaky voice-
"To get up or to give in, you've got the choice!"

He'll laugh and he'll squeal and he'll reach up to the moon,
He'll tie a string to it and he'll make it a balloon,
He'll offer it to you but he'll have just one demand,
That you get up off the floor and you grab it with your hand.

He knows that you spent every ounce of your being,
Your body is spent, no use disagreeing,
Then he'll squawk and he'll chuckle and he'll reach down to you,
He'll say "Just touch my hand, I know you have it in you."

So you pull mega strength from the ground and the stars,
To hell with it all, you've traveled this far,
Reach up oh so slow, days go whistling by,
Till barely- just barely, feel his hand oh so dry.


What a glorious feat, you yell and you cry,
Your new moon on a string will fly oh so high,
You'll make it a shirt it can wear that's tie dye,
And you'll bring it to work and you'll give it cheese pie!

But instead of the promise from the weird grinning guy,
You wake up alone, oh what a mean lie!
And the road back to home is quite dark in your eyes,
Looks near impossible, small chance to get by,
You could ask all the how's or the what's or the why's
But instead you deep sigh and you hope you don't die,
'Cos no matter what happens, you may as well try.