The lines are drawn across the sand,
The soldiers are forming rank.
Arm the troops and strike the band,
On all sides the squad will flank.

The target is a haughty one,
On a tower at the peak of the hill.
A mirage the glimmers in the sun,
All driven simply for the thrill.

The fools rush in like always,
Shot down to set the pace.
Their failures fill up the displays,
Their solemn looks on a sunken face.

The battle plan to capture the flag,
Works best in a tandem pair.
One takes the lead, the other will sag,
The substance to back up the flair.

And as the war comes to a end,
Darkness changes into light.
The losers plug their wounds to mend,
For there's always Friday night...