I am approaching what is known as the end It's quite bizarre, these strange twists and bends And desert cities under brimstone skies Watch thousands of men give up, while one man tries It's a winter game, with a night-shaped board To win means double the silver dragon's hoard There's a ruleless book with pages that thrill The iron hand for which the ages are still It's a rainbow, translucent as a pixie's dream From light reflected in the desert stream Wonderous words claim slowly hyperspeed grief Floating from the jewelled tongue of the golden thief It's a song that starts in the middle verse While the dead man's sorcery hurls its little curse Corroded answers ignore wandering muse Which burden themselves with a sparkling fuse Of a one-side square, decidedly odd Pointedly the seeds of time glitter from their pod Like a spaceship flying through the purple sea That drips its sweet tears from an ancient tree Seen by the little giant all dressed up in red Who's moved into the space inside of your head While we must consider the point that I missed Do any of you lot actually exist?