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Like a spent gladiator, |
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Crawling in the coliseum dust. |
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Who can count on his remaining limbs, |
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All the people he can trust. |
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Like the one who stands behind him, |
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Cheering him on. |
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Ecstatic when he stands defiant, |
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Wild with abandon when he's gone. |
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Just stay alive. |
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Keep your eyes on the pay line. |
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Like a village on the step, |
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About to get collectivized. |
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When the men emerge with rifles from the haystack, |
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Everybody looks surprised. |
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Like the mice in the forgotten grain, |
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Way up on the top shelf. |
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Like someone who's found a small town to escape to, |
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Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self. |
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Stay in the game. |
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Just try to play through the pain. |
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Like a fighter who's been told its finally time for him to quit. |
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Show up in shining colors, |
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And then stand there and get hit. |
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Like the clock that ticks in Dresden, |
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When the whole town's been destroyed. |
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Like the nagging flash of insight, |
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You're always desperate to avoid. |
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Like the bloody-knuckled gunman, |
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Still stationed at the breach. |
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Like that board game with the sliders, |
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And the children on the beach. |
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Stay alive. |
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Maybe spit some blood at the camera. |
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Just stay alive. |
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Stay forever alive. |
