We step into the ring again and smile
Our blunts ready and firm-held in our hands
Our swords are our wits but once in a while
We feel the sting of pain where our blunts land

Some cruel magic intervenes and makes sharp
Our fights of simple teasing, jest, and play
In horror we glimpse the bloody marks
Then fight fiercely or turn and run away

But this strange spell is not from you or me
The both of us are victims of this fate
If we open our eyes, maybe we’ll see
And with linked arms destroy this thing we hate

Then continue our mock battles of jest
With their laughter and fun, what we do best.