Shiny paintball gun in hand,
He's at the radical combat position,
Where he can light the world up
In sunshine yellows, and plastered pinks.
He's at war; in an enclosed arena full of dead men
And concealed faces.
On the field, you're his enemy.
With his marksmenship, dead on.
His sight-- fourty-twenty
And his conversational piece,
is the cocking of the trigger
and the splatter on the bunker behind you.
Your men are scrunched between defeat
--And utter chaos.
Your only plan of attack--
A headstrong encrouchment
where shooting hot leaves your men running cold.
And going liquid is your only way to survive.
"Bruises Fade, Scars Heal, Legends Last Forever" Pic from USP Paintball
cool.
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