(Verse 1 – Alice) One fine upside-down morning, the sky was askew, A rabbit hole landing, not into, but through. My dress was impeccable (A dreadful, bad sign!), I plopped in a pumpkin patch smelling of brine. “Where am I now?” I asked the soft breeze, It turned to a novel and flew through the trees. Then POP! like sarcasm, a loud, sassy sound, A new brand of chaos just dropped on the ground.
(Chorus) Oh, Blunderblot is calling, a whirlwind of glee, Where logic’s on holiday, wild and set free. With Wobbleberry Pudding and wands made of peel, The Cauldron of Nonsense is stirring what’s real! It’s not Wonderland, no, it’s gone off its rocker, It’s just Harry Rotter, the reality-shocker!
(Verse 2 – Harry Rotter) A scruffy girl rode a broom, made of hose and of tape, “Sensible’s here!” she grinned, escaping the scrape. “I’m Harry Rotter, Witch-in-training, you see, Mischief Certified, now—got exploding blueberries?” “I’ve a scone,” I replied, “It’s quite prone to talk.” “Perfect!” she cried, “For our magical walk!” Then a toadstool stood up, with a groan and a belch, “The Turnip Wands Incident! You shouldn’t be here, welch!”
(Chorus) Oh, Blunderblot is calling, a whirlwind of glee, Where logic’s on holiday, wild and set free. With Wobbleberry Pudding and wands made of peel, The Cauldron of Nonsense is stirring what’s real! It’s not Wonderland, no, it’s gone off its rocker, It’s just Harry Rotter, the reality-shocker!
(Bridge) The sky turned to paisley, the ground started to shake, An angry old badger on a tea tray did wake. “You turned Queen’s scones into gremlins!” he spat from his eye, “But gremlins make croutons!” was Harry’s reply. Then a jellyfish floated, of homework and dread, “You mixed rhubarb and Potion 3½!” it overhead said. “The Cauldron is broken!” Harry gasped, filled with fear, “Quick, the Spell of Almost-Rectification is near!”
(Chant/Middle 8 – Spoken Rhythmically) They linked pinkies, tapped knees, and chanted with vim: “Zibble-zabble, stew and bubble, Patch the holes and double the trouble! Bring back balance, just a smidge— Except on Tuesdays. Or near the fridge.” There was a WHUMP, a WHEEEE, and a BLARG! And everything stopped just outside the dark.
(Verse 3 – Alice & Harry) The grass was just grass, and the badger took a seat, A cup of hot tea was a perfectly neat, quick treat. “That was… something,” I said, with a thoughtful, slow sip, Harry winked, upside-down, and gave a small skip. “Next stop: The Ministry of Mayhem,” she decreed, “A borrowed dragon I need to return, yes indeed!” “Allergic to Tuesdays?” I asked with a smile, I was sold on this chaos, just for a while.
(Outro) So off they went skipping, one right and one wrong, The Blunderblot rhapsody plays on and on! With a talking scone muttering verses of Shay, And a dragon-shaped problem for another mad day. (Fade out with the scone’s voice) “…to be or not to be, that is the question…”
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 