As life drifted on toward a new dawn
And the Earth was slowly turning
From within the gloom of a distant room
A single lamp was burning
'Twas Amos, hunched before the light
Of a glimmering monitor screen
His eyes were bloodshot, his nerves were tight
His complexion was turning green
He was toiling, turning out the type
Of a poetic tour-de-force
He was trying to raise a frantic hype
For a number that lay on the course
And the number he flogged as he filled his blog
Was a number of which you may
Have sometimes heard, not the 23rd,
But the 33 of K
"Yes! The 33 of K!", he shrieked,
His whiskers did tremble so
And he blathered on without surcease
While the blustery winds did blow
In a ceaseless and mad cacophony
'Gainst the wall of his castle drear
And in the forests and fields around
The wild beasts shrank in fear
For upon him comes this madness
As the hour approaches fast
When the 33 of K will be nailed
To the Pequod's shivering mast
And abandon hope all ye aboard!
For the gleam in his raving eye
Presages a dire and terrible fate
For all who venture nigh
"'Tis the madness of 33K," they say
And then shrink away in dread
As Amos types on through the night to the dawn
Disdaining his rest and his bed
The man is possesed, that much is clear
He has little else to say
But to blather and blither, as forth we go thither
To the threshhold of 33 K