An ode to Aranha:
So ’ere ’s
to you, all Aranha, an’ your friends which are no more,
If we ’ad n’t lost some messmates we would ’elp you to deplore;
But give an’ take ’s the gospel, an’ we ’ll call the bargain fair,
For if you ’ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!
( with multitudinous apologies to Rudyard Kipling )
As I sit upon a lookout hill,
I survey the land for something to kill,
I sit here and say in jest,
Smoked Aranha legs are the best;
So I spread my wings and glide on high,
Searching for nests near by,
I spot a field of wonderous delight,
Aranha's Aranha's Aranha's with no end in sight.
I close my wings and hit the ground running,
Aranha's spot me as I drop in for Thumping.
I drop my Turrets in a defensive array,
And then bullets and mortars start to spray;
As I survey the carnage that I have wrought,
I wake and cry at the dream I have sought;
It is over, the turrets are no more;
There are no Aranha to stain the land in blood and gore.
I say fare the well Firefall of old,
The Chosen were great but the Aranha's were spicy and Bold.