Ambrose sent me to a new world
Full of prehistoric life
After despair was unfurled
From a quetzal from their strife.
(Oh, Kingsisle, don't you know that
Quetzal is a tropic bird?
Your "quetzal" winged snake shows that
You did not research the word.)
Anyway, this desperate letter showed
That soon Azteca would explode.
Despite the one quetzal mistake
I was ready to forget
All of Azteca seemed to shake
From Xibalba, the comet.
(Oh, Kingsisle, don't you know that
Your players need to care?
Your thinning characters show that
The dinosaurs miss that flair.)
As I through buggy jungle strode:
"I wonder when it will explode?"
After weeks and weeks of grinding
All to stop that deadly rock
I was panting, groaning, finding
That I'd gotten quester's block.
(Oh, Kingsisle, don't you know that
Tedious does not mean hard?
Your crawling pacing shows that
Players' excitement's marred.)
All I could think was of this mode:
"When will Azteca just explode?"
After solving every small whim
Always feeling just the same
My rage finally did me in
"Is this dratted thing a game?"
(Oh, Kingsisle, don't you know that
Rage inspires mutiny?
Your painful "game" quests show that
There is not much left in me.)
From one thought my mind would implode:
"I wish Azteca would explode!"
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