by Nick Gisburne
Ziaggro wants your full attention, please.
He comes to claim your precious planet, soon.
His pilot, I implore you to appease
The wrath of he whose body dwarfs your moon.
You seem to be completely underwhelmed.
Is not the thought of endless pain enough?
For centuries the living ship I helmed
Has carried him. Ziaggro does not bluff.
Okay, how’s this? Pretend to be amazed.
In six or seven years he’ll fly away.
He’s like a baby, wanting to be praised.
I only took the job to get the pay.
I’ve had a word. Ziaggro says he’s sad,
And I’m the one who has to call his dad.
