A man walks into a bar:
"These are not the droids you seek."
But do droids dream of technicolor sheep?
I have often loved the Yoda speak.

Wax poetic, burn the candle from both ends,
          Melt to the core and then,
          Buy more wax.
          A fortune for every rhyme.
          And you will become master of this time.

A man walks into a bar:
"These are not the drinks you seek."
But do drunk dreams dance the technicolor sleep?
I have often loved the Yoda speak.

Do you know who wrote the book of love?
          Daddy did, they inform me of.
          Daddies absent of authorship,
          Disembodied dudes.
          White like slushy snow abused.
 

A man walks into a bar:
"This will not drink you to sleep."
But you and I and technicolor sheets…
I have often loved the Yoda speak.

Once upon a midnight dreary,
          Blackened wings did not fear me,
          You bought my burden
          With fire at my both ends
          Never more my flight ascends.

A man walks into a bar:
"Here is not what makes you speak."
Your manhood all your colors secrete.
Sometimes truth in riddles sleeps.

In the beginning there was the Word,
          The flying father burned absurd.
          In laughing I named him.
          He burned my back with wicked joy
          Along the way, this joke will destroy.