The little white demons that sit, stare, and wait
For the right moment to strike.
They look innocent until you try to fight,
Then they seal your fate.

They are prepared on a dark assembly line
And go through harsh tests of their own.
Their performance exceeds the very word fine
And their enemies minds are always blown.

When they're knocked over
They know they have failed.
Their rapid and effortless shots while eternally sober
Seem to have like their hard drives slowly trailed.