Twas the night before Phoebe, when all
through the region
Not a spaceship was flying, not even
P-Legion
The supers were logged in their caches
with care,
In hopes that a capital brawl would
soon be there;
The pilots were nestled all snug in
their pods,
While visions of dead titans was dreamt
by these gods;
And Mittens in his onesie, and miners
their ore,
Had settled their brains, for a long
winter's war...
 |
| May Phoebe bring us endless war and destruction--cheers! |
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