Final Bell Fury
(shhh) The lights cut clean,
the sweat runs cold Two figures carved in a heavy mold The
canvas waits, the seconds slide Nowhere left for the fear to hide
(deep breath)
Feet on the line,
the guard goes high
Under the glare of a sleepless sky
One breath, one shot,
the clock begins!
Strike! Counter! Stand your ground!
We fight until the final round!
Heavy iron, burning clay We carve the glory out of the gray!
Round four, round five,
the vision blurs The crowd is a roar of distant slurs Taste
of copper, weight of lead Just the rhythm in your head
(huff, huff)
Down on the canvas,
the count begins (one,
two, three) But the fire inside always wins!
Get up!
Strike! Counter! Stand your ground!
We fight until the final round!
Heavy iron, burning clay We carve the glory out of the gray!
(we did it)