From the shadows of nullsec where bubbles all bloom,
Came Silvinho from Womp saying, "Everybody, form soon."
"It's a five-minute roam. Bring whatever you've got."
The doctrine was missing, but courage was not.

He'd spam "Check your d-scan," every minute or two,
Though he'd spotted the fleet long before any of you.
He could smell an Arazu a region away,
And a bait Procurer before it could pray.

A Sabre appeared and a bubble went wide,
The FC said "Hold!" but there was nowhere to hide.
The overview blossomed with targets to shoot,
And someone yelled loudly, "Who's looting the loot?"

The hostile fleet landed with lasers ablaze,
Their tackle was perfect, their timing a craze.
But Silvinho just laughed as the missiles all flew,
"They're only more wrecks for the salvagers' crew."

So raise one for Womp, for the mad and the strange,
For the fleets that turn chaos to glorious campaigns.
And raise one for Silvinho, whose favourite refrain:
"It's probably bait..." — then he'd take it again.