After carefully crafting a cosplay costume,

Of Micky Mouse Darth Vader,

With beer can straws customized tune-ups

In the ears

And a scratch-made voice modulator.

Juan Pa from Seville,

A barber by trade,

A geek by nature,

Sets off on the tributaries

Of logistics,

Transport veins and arteries

That crisscross sun spoiled earth.

To Madrid,

The capital

For a comic-con

Nerd-a-thon.

For the Milk!

For the tea!

Do not renounce

On reality!

His grill muffled dialect

Behind the mask

Is as good as Greek,

Yet with hands flickering

In gesticulated nervousness,

Tells of myths and legends.

And so it is;

The red shirts club adopt him,

At a late-night drinking session

To defeat the next morning's hangover

Mind attack.

The red shirts

Terrified of leaving the mothership;

Send Juan Pa on a Star trek

For the Milk!

For the tea!

Do not renounce

On reality!

Vision obstructed

And with a cape!

He falls down a manhole

He couldn't escape,

The wormhole effect

That drove down and down

To a bovine inhabited planet;

Enslaved to some swine.

So, it's to revolt now

Juan Pa must cry:

For the Milk!

For the tea!

Do not renounce

On reality!

He serves up some bacon

Cut with special edition lightsaber,

Falls in love with the smile

Of a cow,

Never to return

The favor,

So those red-shirted clowns

Accept that camomile

With no milk

Is always taken.

For the Milk!

For the tea!

Do not renounce

On reality!