Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me,
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,
.
That mordiously hath blurted out,
Its earted jurtles,
Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer.
....
[drowned out by moaning and screaming]
....
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and slipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,
.
Groop, I implore thee,
my foonting turling dromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
.
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
.
See if I don't.

Hitchikers Guide I think?

Our star is shining its brightest light

Yes.
But he'll only awake if you're his true love.

Wouldnt we all

*whisper* Twue Wove...

Ah, I didn't know that. That could be it.