Oh Unobtanium, why art thou so fickle?
Your changing prices have left me in a pickle.
Buy Purple, buy blue, buy green, not yellow or red,
So far to fly, so long to fly, I'm off to bed,
To arise in the morning, so happy, so eager,
Then to panic and pain, my profit, so meager!
Why Skyrates why? How could you be so cruel, so mean!
There sits my Volstoy, Unobtanium at green.
All that way for naught! Curse you gem, you stone, you rock!
All that time that I wasted, twas truly a crock!
And thus ends my ode, my tired tirade, my tale,
At least I think so. There could always be a sale.