"Rhymes are magic, making similarities without reason.
Yet, reason may only rhyme with our bias.
Our heroes stepped into a hubbub, a bubbly pub,
and turned to a multitude of fools, crying,
'Do you say what you mean?'
But they only chorused, 'Do what you say.'
Our hero entered without dismay.
'Do what?' you say.
For those who know do not say, and those who say do not know.
Or so they say.
But tell me anyway, is there any place
where they fix unspeakable words for only a few cents.
Or would it be better, do you think,
to love a pocketful of no sense.
They hemmed and shawed, they huddled and guffawed,
they drew up to fight, and cried out, 'Free pizza, free pizza!'
Yet the stir in the storm went out with day,
as they settled down to question night.
On and on it went, with a riddle, a muddle, and a puzzle,
a wrestle, a huddle, and a guzzle,
till they all felt exhausted in a heap.
Now, in the light of workaday, the revelers
beheld a shuddering sight, for all around and about the self
same question marks littered the lanes,
and not one paved the way.
They collected and connected those punctuating things.
They spun them like tops.
They turned them on end.
They teased them with ribbons and slipped in letters to send.
But as day went it's way, they tossed and they turned.
For they knew, by night, things wouldn't be right,
and they'd start all over again."