lyric

The curtain rises on the arena of fire,
The stars whisper softly: "Will this be his desire?"
The air is a drum, beating the pace,
And he steps in the ring with a bold, fearless grace.

The rival awaits with a stern, steady glare,
Like a wolf sizing up a deer unaware.
The hero moves forward, his gaze like a flame,
The opponent responds with a calculated claim.

It’s a dance in the storm, a never-ending game,
Every spin, a poem, every strike, a refrain.
The canvas is a sky painted with sweat and strife,
And the hero keeps smiling, defying the fight.

The rival strikes first, with a spin so fast,
But the hero counters with a move that’s unsurpassed.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he murmurs with wit,
Then responds with a twist, both agile and quick.

The crowd’s in awe, they can’t believe their eyes,
A battle of titans beneath the starlit skies.
Though fatigue screams at him to throw in the towel,
He smiles and thinks: "This is just the first round."

It’s a dance in the storm, a never-ending game,
Every spin, a poem, every strike, a refrain.
The canvas is a sky painted with sweat and strife,
And the hero keeps smiling, defying the fight.

Each step is a verse, every punch a line,
A poem in motion, crafted over time.
Sweat is the ink, the canvas the page,
Victory’s the fire that sets the stage.

It’s a dance in the storm, an art so refined,
Every fall, a story, every leap, a design.
The hero stands tall, with strength and wit,
And leaves behind his courage in every hit.

And when the waltz ends, the hero stands high,
He wipes off his sweat with a mischievous smile.
There’s no glory without laughter, no fight without art,
But the storm of fire… will never depart.