The Games
Hunger claws at your stomach;
So harsh, so vile, so cruel.
Thirst scorches your dry throat;
A fire blazing anew.
Fear takes over every cell,
And the horrid stench of death.
The end is near, but one can't tell.
When comes the final breath?
Run and hide, do what you can,
But the truth is in your heart.
The odds aren't good for one at all,
It takes spirit from the start.
One is so alone it seems,
But unsafe from prying eyes.
There's not a soul at all that's even near
But they're watching all this time.
The victor rises, cold and hard.
The losers all are gone.
But is winning really losing?
Is winning really wrong?
Always mocking, taunting guilt,
The crown sits on one's head.
A crown of pride is really shame,
Regarding all the dead.
Why not just forget
If there's no room to forgive?
But why throw it all away,
After prevailing just to live?
The dawn brings fame and glory
But the night brings fear and shame.
For even in one's dreams,
One's forever in the games.
