Far away from planet Earth,
beyond the stellar rim,
there lived a race of aliens
known for being somewhat dim.

Though advanced, to us at least,
their ways were quite bizarre.
Each muttered simple melodies
and played a brass guitar.

It didn’t stop and that, oh no,
they also liked to cook.
Their curried-mammal-gizzard-stew
was likely worth a look.

All was going swimmingly,
they danced to jarring beats.
Until a day of lousiness
when blood ran in the streets.

A fateful day of tragedy;
a reckoning that came.
And after which these pleasant folk
would never be the same.

It started with a messenger
who came down from the sky.
He offered them a recipe
of salted-lobster-pie.

A single glance was quite enough,
they pined for arthropods.
Such wondrous tastes could only be
the nectar of the Gods!

Alas their holy appetite
came at an awful price.
They’d have to trade their solitude;
their slice of paradise.

The Decapods of Mollusk-9
descended on the land.
They swept it clean of everything
except for worthless sand.

The locals couldn’t comprehend
exactly what occurred.
It seemed their trade of natural wealth
was not as they preferred.

Appealing to their empathy,
they parlayed for truce.
Unfortunately instead they tied
themselves the final noose.

A masochist genocide
began right there and then.
Until the locals numbered
barely more than nine or ten.

No one now recalls its name,
that planet far away.
And as for those who called it home,
there’s nothing left to say.

– J.S.Worth


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