Along the journey, I made my way,
Hoping to reach the center someday,
I checked my map and said 'Whoa!'
155k Light Years Left To Go!
But I noticed I had trouble aimin'
To an extent I felt was shamin',
As regardless of the direction I'd go,
My advance center-bound seemed woefully slow,
So opened the map and away I went,
Scrollin forwards, rather hell-bent,
Tryin to see if maybe I'd spot,
A manner to accelerate my ambling trot.
Faster and faster I whooshed through the scape,
Stars tumblin' past at a rapid ol' rate,
Finally reached the near-finish, at which point I'd find;
600k light years ARE YE OUT OF YER MIND?!?
Zanten, Doer Of The Things
Unless He Forgets In Which Case Zanten, Forgetter Of The Things
Or He Procrascinates, In Which Case Zanten, Doer Of The Things Later
Or It Involves Moving Furniture, in Which Case Zanten, F*** You.
