The Pscho-electromagnetic Dwarf one squiggly day went to town.
With a chicken under his arm and on his mouth a frown.
On a giant red cart made from stale bread he rode.
To sell his finest crop of hallucinogenic horned toads.
Though outward grim in nature, inside he was light.
Always one to talk about peace and avoid conflicts and fights.
A more generous electromagnetic dwarf,  there was never known.
Always one to help poor murflins, kindness he'd always shown.
 
The market that day was full of people all bustling and hustling.
Hawking their fine wares of mopples, sqwumples and fossling's.
The sky was crimson, the clouds blood shot orange, and the sun luminous green.
The sun had got its hat on, nay'er a more spectacular morn was ever seen.
With a whistle and a song the dwarf set out his stall, laying out his toads.
With this amount of murflins and faloopalls he was sure to sell loads.
The toads were violet, magenta and azure, with horns on heads numbering three.
They were loved for their psychotropic trips, which were secreted from their knee's.
 
When the three-horned toad was licked or sucked.
The doors to reality did bend and buck.
And what a magical wondrous sight was seen,
A grey blue world with grass so green.
The sun was yellow-gold tinged with white,
All who saw it agreed it wasn't quite right.
With cream-blue in the sky and moss-blue in the sea.
What a strange bizarre world this was considered to be.
 
Its people were the strangest things of all.
They resembled monkeys that were quite tall.
They had freaky hair and bizarre strange clothes
They delighted in garden centres and buying thick woollen throws.
They lived in boxes and dressed as of the fashion of the season.
They drove shiny metal horseless carts and shouted for no reason.
Their world revolved around the worship of small papers green.
They were gruff and rude and delighted in being mean.
All in all this reality was a neon back lit mess.
But enough of this world, back to the story, I digress.