EPTHe's the Maestro, Ma Jae Yoon,
And those who face him will perceive:
From KeSPA's heights dethroned so soon,
He still can make his foemen grieve.
Each zergling is a violin,
Each mutalisk a silver flute;
The lurkers lead his brass in din
As they pursue their Terran food.
Should you survive that gruesome day
Do not be reckless, don't be proud.
His hive tech enters into play,
And scourge will snipe your vessels stray
To the cadenza of the cloud.
Two hundred signs cheer Ma Jae Yoon,
A thousand rabid fangirls scream.
You're no one. Silence is your tune.
TL dot net observes the stream.
The match has started. SCVs
Begin to harvest, badly split.
Across the Peaks, drones hum like bees
And pave the way for your defeat.
Your scout reports a pulsing form,
And as he dies, he shrieks, “Beware!”
You shudder as your eyes confirm:
This calm precedes a vicious storm,
The allegretto of the lair!
Ten turrets sprout within your main,
Twin bunkers, a protected camp!
Maestro starts a large contain
And builds a base beneath your ramp.
Your comsat sees a morphing hive.
His mutas sing, your rines scream out,
Among the bodies, zerglings thrive
And of the outcome leave no doubt.
You live on, somehow holding course.
Afraid your hands are bound to freeze,
You think: this game cannot get worse.
His drums, his ultras eat your force.
With all your might, you cut the cheese.
The great Maestro, Ma Jae Yoon,
Bereft of gas mask in the fart,
Inflates his cheeks like a balloon
And clasps his hands atop his heart.
A thousand fangirls choked and died.
Two hundred signs now grace the dust.
You grin, your chest puffed out with pride:
You won by doing what you must.
