One fateful day on Highlands north
A Spartan chose his gun
But just as he might venture forth
His teammate wanted one
They argued briefly, then and there
The one without was miffed
He sat there foaming in his chair
And carried on the rift
“The sniper’s mine!” he cried in pain
and let his magnum roar
He stood above his teammate, slain
and crouched down to the floor
Then up once more, then down again,
Repeated to excess
Until in time he strained his shin
And fell in great duress
At least he still possessed the gun
His baby never slept
But now he couldn’t really run
So there he laid and wept
His fallen comrade, now respawned
Had vengeance on his mind
Forgive, forget, and move beyond?
He wasn’t so inclined
So as his boots approached the man
Who felled him at the drop
The flowers shook, the Moa ran
And time itself did stop
The grounded sniper begged for peace
He offered back the ware
And for a moment earned a lease
on life despite his error
Indeed relief soon filled his eyes
The hunter left the dock
But just as soon, he heard the rise
Of a Warthog’s engine block
The warthog looked a mess that night
All covered in remains
It really was a dreadful sight
Undriveable, and stains!
But Halo 4 was drawing near
The cleanup crews were gone
All reassigned to sequel gear
The stains would stay through dawn
Now, sanitation laws demand
Each warthog must be clean
So three four three, they quickly canned
The DLC we’d seen
And in the end you have to blame
The one who stole that gun
Because of him, our treasured game
No longer seems as fun!