Punching Bag
Spark the lesson, igniting thoughts for the sparring session
Start the testing, impacts from the darts and weapons
Punching bags swing on rusted hinges, bearing silent witness
Of sweat dropped from lust and binges, as he tries to fix this
'Past his prime' they condemned him, now he barely gets a mention
From a generation of henchmen with a micro-sec attention
He laid foundations, dropped giants and picked up a scar or two
Stomped the pavements, forged alliances, fought with the hardest dudes
All this without auto-tune, the dust of ages falls in droves
As he prepares to return to the place he called his home
He's all alone, but standing strong, picking out the armory
To seize the throne and atone, even cut an artery
If that's the penance, per chance, to save his legacy
"The cultures fallen into shit!"
"Damn! Now you're telling me..."
The bag breaks, he cracks his vertebrae and heads to the exit
Bloodthirsty but refreshed, poised to answer a deathwish
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