But, there was one piece not covered by glass and the minions felt they had failed and the angels were unable to see the centre until something was placed upon the open openness. And then a shining purple moon, almost like the sun, filled the open space to give light inside the dome. Then the angels saw. They saw the magnificent. The others saw the fields waiting to be watered, for there were no rain only vast waterfalls streaming all over inside the dome. Different named waterfalls for angels that would lead and angels that had been lost and angels who helped minions before their fall. And under each and every name there was a poem. There was a poem for Henky and Josh and Tyler and Losh. One for Heather and Tim and Jacob and Limbe. And three verses for Larry, and Carry, and Mosh and Frosh. And the angels would read and tell their baby angels the stories.
The land was full of decrepit paste
Where those who speak were shunned so deep
A land with no future no glory no haste
Where the angels had fallen would creep
There was Asher and Mancy and Kathy and Joe
Even Rebecca and Tasha and Comby and Alone
Ted was the first and his brother, no foe
And a healthy bucket of welcoming Shaloms
The land by it self could not prepare together
Since only the minions could understand what was forth
So the angels took from the waterfalls and gave to the dirt
Lives of the fallen, who had built this in a tremendous birth
Those minions lived like us
So true and so fair
And every son and daughter began to prepare
They took from the falls of water and transformed the dirt
And so, with every splash of water placed on the ground, the being of the minions would grow and grow fast. A minion of many colours in flowers and cloth, and even a nice big home-cooked collected pot. Whatever was needed by the angel was given, by the water and purple moon that had broth life to the angels and minions and to grow and to grow. There was no room for the rich and wealthy angels, for their bellies grew bigger outside the dome and still were made to look left and not right. These cats are not needed in the purple sun dome, for the peace and harmony were shared by the ones who remained honest, even as a minion, wishing to help even the hopeless fool.
The colours amazing, so bright and so true. They began to grow flowers just like you. Gather up a dozen doilies and give to a friend, where the waterfalls were blooming such ancient known horticulture for man. Like peppernomes and yepperdomes and even sometimes you could see a red zefersong. And the people played these harmonicas, and guitars from the tree shrubs hanging over top and the small angels were taught by the minions by book of a lot. It was a book of only little pages, a tiny book, that was picked up only when the moon was shining and the book was read as the sun and moon went down. These minions they wrote the story of creation, how the dome was created and how the purple sun and moon appeared only by virtue, a small chance living without the last minion's glass. The trees were not tall but bared just the paper they produce. Stories like “fiddle and riddles”, and books just for you. The first one you picked off the tree smelt oh so fresh and when you opened it, you were always on the right page, laid out for you by this intellect of a tremendous draping tree. Every time you smelt the growing colourful grass it would be so perfect and every sense an angel had, could smell and see and even close their eyes and still be able to guide themselves as the minions would guide them from the minions that the angels had watered from the immense waterfalls. Buckets and buckets and walkers and throwers and even a mountain of late night bloomers.
No longer this city known to be Hamburgerville, but the city now, Home of the Dome and angels from every parts of the land, like the Hemopers and the Jacobsons and the Titanium Goddesses and even, on a dreary day, the dome would welcome, through the sliding glass door, the Plangers and the Wiscots, who began making their own dome in townships all over the non dome, god given, land.
And for those outside the dome, were beasts who swelled for the money the minions had been pushed around for and fallen, they ate and they drank and grew jolly and fat and laughed in the wrong and thought they knew the world, since the only thing they saw, the colour orangeandgreen in their opaque kazoos. For they would never be angels nor minions, only flames of a match box, sparked with greed til they turn up disappeared in a shadow that would haunt only themselves in self doom.
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