Sky peddling high on my purple bicycle helicopter
Something catches my eye and next I crash land
Tumbling in a field thick with wild veloceraptor
It's a magic wishing well with a beckoning hand
I stumble closer, and once in reach flip a penny
Which is snatched by the call sign, quick pocketed
A hollow voice asks if more coin would I have any
To ensure my dream before the price skyrocketed
Thence materialises a rotund, yet oddly agile figure
Who ruffles my lapels, steams up my flying goggles
"You wantin' the cut rate?" he grows a bit bigger
And then stops short when my machine he ogles
"What you got here?" smirks the man, with a sneer
"My vehicle!" I snap, "It's reliable when it works,
"But not now for seconds - you see it requires repair"
He sniffs around, poking a stick at it (which irks)
Intones he with a ghastly rattle he may be able fix
If it be worth my while, for perhaps a small favor
I decline because I suspect that he's up to tricks
A man I don't know with a most unsavoury flavour
"I'll er get back to you on that," I say, mustering tact
"Surely," he says, "but hurry as I can't be here long!"
Why the impatience I cannot but wonder - a fact!
Then next he commences to warble an unknown song
The lyric is impassioned, hypnotic, sad, and forlorn,
But its meaning is lost due to a lingo which chaffs
Suddenly around us an insect accompaniment born
First the string section, brass section, and he laughs
I look again and find the propellor has been righted
The shacklepops has been connected to the springy
The dollopper re-screwed to the flobble, and tighted
And a new claxtowham inserted into the auto-thingy
"Hey thanks!" I blurt, a mite too excited and keen
"Not a prob," he replies, a touch too lackadaisical
"Deduct it from the payment," he adds, a tad mean
When next my vision blurs, grows completely hazical
"What what what!" I wail, trying to comprehend
"Perhaps it's yet again your silly flying goggles?"
But it's not my goggles, which by the well I lend
It's inside my eyes, all fussed, mussed, and foggles
"Dammit!" I snap. "Do you think you can fix this?"
"Too right," he replies, "but not til the bill is paid"
"Say how?" I enquire to he, who is hazy as mist
"With your chopter I guess," he shrugs and fades
And so fortunately the deal it is tacitly struck
"Hang on buster," I start "I haven't made my wish!"
Now without transport here I appear to be stuck
From the storm emerges a swarm of Angler fish
Abuzz they are, with noise, chatter, and flapping
Precisely the topic which results in them whoopy
In turn causing their fins to quickly start clapping
I can't really say: wet, murky, turgid, and gloopy
But thence I sharp observe with my unaided eye
One wearing a a full saddle of suntanned leather
So I leap and straddle the deep sea creature fine
Patting and assuring it I'm as light as a feather
With the herd of scales we ride into the night
Unknown to us where they're and we're swimming
But away from the magic well and its blight
The future lit by their glowlights, never dimming
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