Plot it out, with pens in spiral notebooks
Demon squads and foes with grappling hooks
Write it down; only two dimensional
Make the killer death rate intentional

Master of diagrams you all must obey
Got to be good enough to make it one day
Develop wicked maps, trap doors- so cliche
Light-gun blasts aliens and tanks all away

Sometimes when the talk gets too lackluster-
LCD handheld: so I won't suffer
Anne thinks my talent is all but precious
When I make it big-league, she'll be jealous

High-scores flicker, since dinner, without care or worry
Cereal bits, underneath napkin sketch: red crayon- so blurry
It's getting late, half-awake, ambition grown duller
Soon fast asleep, tucked safe in bed, dreaming in 16 colors

Master of diagrams you all must obey
Got to be good enough to make it one day
Develop wicked maps, trap doors- so cliche
Light-gun blasts aliens and tanks all away