When the moon ascends the sky, casting silver-spun spells, I feel a twinge in my soul, where uncertainty dwells. For the truth wears a mask, in stories so grand, Children's whispers are riddles none can quite understand. We sway to the rhythm, 'neath the shimmering globe, Where every flaw is forgotten, under dawn's gilded robe. The sun paints perfection in clouds drifted high, While laughter rings clear, and no tear graces the eye. Creatures of instinct, their motives unsure, Carnivores wander, through appetites pure. Mandibles chat, exchanging tales of the night, With gossip as sweet as chocolate delights. Oompa Loompa, a chant echoes through, Yet shadows forewarn, I’ve got a bad feeling too. In mirrors of whimsy, reflections askew, Oompa Loompa, tell me—can this dream be true?