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The King of All Cosmos

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Bonjour, bonjour, Our most hardworking son,
As they say in France, whence We
Have lately come. C'est bon. We hope that you
Can visit it today, a side trip as you roll.
As though that's possible; oh, well. Make Us a star!
Roll Us up a katamari full of things.

We have no Royal Gift, so take your pick of things
You roll up while on Earth, Our pee-wee son.
You have three minutes, by Our watch, to make a star
To grace the graceless sky. Make haste! Lest We
Grow disenchanted with the way you roll.
Should you create too small a ball, We will berate you.

Our sky, our lonely, empty sky, cries out to you
(To Us, to be precise. But you will do) for things!
What are you waiting for? Roll, Princeling, roll!
We delegate this task to you, Our only son.
Create a stylish katamari, one that We
Would not be too ashamed to make a star.

It takes ten thousand things to make a star.
What sort of things? We'll leave that up to you
But make them shiny! Shiny! Yes. We
Have no use for boring, ugly things.
A sparkly, stylish katamari, princely son
Is what We need. To Earth! It's time! Let's roll!

Oooh, look! So many things. Well? Roll
Them up! You'll need a lot to make a star
Worthy of the King of Cosmos' son.
Roll coins, and lobsters, plants and fish. You
Must be quick! Get bicycles, and other things
That add girth fast. Get houses! Ships! We

Hear the clock tick on, and We
Will come down to inspect your roll
In ten! Quick - roll up cities! Roll up seas! More things
On top of more. Roll up the Earth! Roll up a star!
Roll up the Moon, the sun, the sky, and you
May yet be adjudged fit to be Our son.

And what is this, most laggard son? So small. And dull. We
Are displeased. We told you you should do your best to roll
A katamari fit to form a brilliant star! Not this pathetic lump of misbegotten things.