Jace Crumrine, Man in Space. 
What can I do?
To prove
To those who accuse
Me of cruel beliefs?
Who am I to deny the unproved theory
Of a food moon? Who am I to dispute that
I, indeed, approved of a moon made of green cheese.
is it so hard to leave me to my groove and bust some moves
to my flute, songs only a fool could hate on? For I am a harbinger,
One you’ve never heard of. Of unmoving dispute could knock you out
With my broom, no doubt.
But where could this go? I rattle nonsense to you and you listen.
You make out meaning in my thoughtless verses.
You could say, “They must have spent so long on those rhymes”
I would laugh and say “The internet was made for a reason”
Green cheese, Is there really such a thing?
Probably not, but it was funny.
So what can I do?
Can I prove to you that the Moon is made of such cheese?
It would make me happy if you listened
Which, now you have.
Thank you.