Since when did this world become,
A world of placing blame?
Since when did doing nothing,
Suddenly become sane?

I look around, the stadium,
And every seat is filled.
Just to point out, how he stumbles.
He, the warrior, is killed.

They gossip at his failures,
The doer of these deeds.
When he could have been better,
What has become of thee?

Is the critic so intrepid?
Whilst the man is marred and bruised.
This man is labeled failure,
Though such failure lives in you.

But the critic gets the infamy,
And the deeds have triumphed man.
So the fans all laugh and curse him out,
The one endearing champ.

His shoes are left amidst the walls.
The dust and dirt amass.
He couldn't bring the lion down,
Fame or failure, passed.

The janitors fix broken walls.
The gates are locked and sealed.
The lion stands immobile,
Still feasting 'pon his meal.

And out of the arena,
Stream a thousand spewing slurs.
While the world ambles 'long next day,
And praises only words.

Though left in the arena,
Someone never there before.
Found this image, quite disturbing
As laughter, found itself ignored.

His weary eyes, still fixed upon,
The torn and tattered flesh.
And he new right then, his destiny,
Walking the cold and bloody steps.

He looked the lion in the eye.
No critics left to cheer.
Picked up the fallen comrades shoes,
He vowed "I'll show you deadly fear!"


And the shoes, were never filled the same,
With bloody, molded toes.
His mind, was never dressed quite right,
Attended no more shows.

But he wore them out of his respect.
The lion, still unscathed.
The public eye, still burning,
For a warrior to blame.

And the only image he could see,
Was the still frame murder grounds.
With the crackling flesh beneath the beast,
Instilling confidence, with sounds.

And the image remains mounted,
Upon his fearless brain.
One with hooks that never bent or broke.
A diamond coated frame.

It never budged or tilted,
It was perfect picture spot.
To remind the dauntfull world,
Just how much they forgot.

The image still remains there,
Upon your T.V. set.
With words of witty critics
Who remind us to forget.

But the frame is nice and plastic,
And the image slowly fades.
Upon the T.V. without reason,
Another joke put on display.

The shoes are left in the same spot,
And the lion has his feast.
It's a deja vu of sanity,
My body becomes meat.

"And if I had another chance,
Since I've already tried.
The only thing I'd change
Is laughing, as I died.

I might not know of victory,
But what have you become?
At least I tried, and know of failure,
Your soul knows neither one."

 
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