One More Round

Hands shaking.

Lip bleeding.

Can't remember which round this is.

Somebody says,

“You've done enough.” (shhh)

Yeah.

One more.

I've got nothing left that feels like strength,

Every road behind me took another piece away,

Legs saying sit, lungs saying slow,

Every sensible voice saying it's time to go.

Nobody'd blame me. Hell,

neither would I. That's almost enough To make quitting feel right.

Then somewhere through the noise

Comes that familiar sound— (ding)

Fuck it.

One more round.

One more round, That's all I need,

Don't promise me tomorrow,

Don't promise victory. Don't tell me I'll win.

Don't tell me how.

Just give me enough To stand up— ONE MORE ROUND.

I've been hit by things I never saw coming,

Lost whole years while the clock kept running,

Had good plans die with their shoes still on,

Woke up the next morning— Still wasn't gone.

So maybe that's it.

Maybe that's my trick.

Not stronger than hell.

Just harder to convince.

Tell me it's hopeless.

Tell me sit down. (ding)

You really gotta stop

Making that fucking sound.

One more step.

One more breath.

One more swing

With whatever is left.

No speech.

No crowd.

No fucking crown.

Just that bell— And me— GETTING BACK UP NOW.

Coach says:

“You sure?” No. Let's go.

ONE MORE ROUND! Let the violins run!

Let the low horns pound!

Let the whole damn ceiling Come crashing down!

I don't need forever!

I don't need it now!

Give me sixty more seconds— ONE.

MORE. ROUND.

I might win. I might hit the ground.

But if that fucking bell rings—

I'M COMING OUT.