I was once in Nietzsche's attic
That great hollow, cold and damp
The home of yellowed paper
And one little tarnished lamp

I saw a small inscription
Neath the dust, to my alarm
So picked the lantern up, and
Rubbed it gently with my palm

Out popped a smokesome genie
Looking pale and deathly ill
He looked at me impassively
'Go on, you know the drill'

At last, my opportunity
To circumvent the rules
No finite three wishes for me
Like all those other fools

'Good sir', I said, my vocal chords
Near trembling with delight
'My first and foremost
Is for wishes infinite'

The genie sighed and closed his eyes
'Now listen here, you shit
I know you think you've just displayed
The keenest sort of wit

But what you've asked for's always been
Available to you
We've all got endless wishes, boy
But most will not come true'

He stared at me as though I was
The butt of every joke
Then shrank within the lamp with an
Appalling pall of smoke

My every wish was granted
When I looked through Nietche's prism
There's nothing left to want for
If we turn to nihilism