I was at home,
relaxed and alone.
I lay sleeping,
the darkness was reaping.
Then I heard the sound;
crushed windows all around.
Everything was destroyed,
of glass everything devoid.
Then I heard Warhead at my door,
personification of Balthazor.
The glass broke into shivers,
splinters were in my flesh delivered.
In spite of my fear,
at Warhead I did appear.
And tried to calm him down,
and he stopped throwing things around.
Everything seemed to be well,
Warhead had changes of mood, I can tell.
And Lays-chips was lying there,
I wouldn’t touch it, I declared;
cause it belonged to Warhead.
Hours later, Warhead came down;
in his anger still drowned.
He wanted his stuff,
but I knew he would bluff.
Always talking about guns,
but the true deed he shuns.
Though I was confused,
his stuff was unused.
Is what Ramses did tell,
and so ended this hell...
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