Deathmatch

The dance of death begins, weapons spawn in podiums

Battle of gore ignites, flying guts in slow motion

No one will be safe, from the tournament

Firing at will, the trigger pulls with resentment

Flak cannons ripping, shock rifles blasting

Contestants turned to bits

Chunks of meat flying everywhere, the violence never quits

Pulse guns frying, snipers head shotting

Heads roll across the floor

There can be only one winner, who will leave bathed in gore