The queen, as her nebular locks do stream,
makes her strolls across the evening's sky.
Her robe of stars twinkle, do grace the place,
and as she then repeats her walk, by and by.
This was once such a well organized fixture,
was so refined, but, now a casino, does fly.
Cousin Leo, sits all alone in his chair, so aloof,
at his own gaming table, his beer mug's dry.
Now in the midst of this odd galactic scene,
sits the grand roulette wheel, there just so.
And is the center of their universe to spin,
all around and around, this don't you know.
Players cast on every side, all of their chips,
like bright comets, are each then so thrown.
As all the winners get many billions of stars,
each kept in their player's bag, are unshown.
There at the highest point in that crazy joint,
sits the trumpet player, on his selfish throne.
For was once he got kicked out of the band,
the rest of them, well, their fates, all unknown.
His self-imposed reign of terror, he has made,
lighting up the very skies with its terrible sights.
Asteroids and meteors, streaking dark heavens,
making turmoil and disrupting all in the heights.
Suddenly, the strong hand of God did intervene,
He takes the roulette wheel, and so casts it away.
Its swirling lights send big crescendos, all about,
sparkled like fire works on the Fourth, their display,
That Pseudo-royal impersonator, was now gone,
to be soon given the boot, not ever seen, again.
Now there was more calm, of that universal hush,
giving pause to this scene, of its colossal life of sin.