"They come from down yonder, yon hither and thro, To tell of their vittles, whittles, and so, From a town of magic, and might, Pittsboro... A base, an ace, the scruples of Area51, A hone, a drone, bust under the sun, To create, an artificial, chosen one... Of Bass Bicher's envy, and Passive's delight, To turn upon wonder, for 'magic' and 'might', To be torn asunder, by blunder, and The Dark One's light..."