Their backbones are supported by high-backed chairs,
They just can't justify the position they weild,
A trooper you are and will always remain,
For these are the people who run the guild.
Their weapons are not steel, and they don't shine,
They don't hurt your flesh, and no red trickles,
They'll still hurt you worse, and make you whine,
For their remarks are stones, and insults sickles.
Each single trooper, yearns climbing up the ladder,
But then each crab watches, and never let's go,
Nobody escapes and the world gets madder,
And the top of the heap watch the premiere of the show.
They cover their faces for they don't want to be known,
And hide behind emails, and wage a war guerilla,
Seven wonders of the world, they would have themselves flown,
But then for nothing, why rake all the moolah?
And then I ponder alone, time and again,
A day should arrive, and render all as equals,
Even if it means losing everything in vain,
Just turn everything to dust and make no sequels.