I witnessed his majesty, his code of honor's a strategy. The evidence is weaved along
seamless stitches that thread the tapestry ("A Masterpiece!") of elegance to seek applause.
That's the - ethics of valor see, the principles are half complete. The precipice we teeter on
blur the line of athletes, not a hero - but you have to be, with the precedence we speak upon...
"I have fought without shame" I said, on my knees waiting death.
"Are you not entertained?!" He shouts to the crowd and keeps baiting guests.
The scowls from our Dominus, cut short all the howls from the commoners,
Doctore growls out his moniker, reopened wounds smelling foul through the gossamer.
Most would cower to Commodore, plea for mercy as he makes his decision,
but the turn of the thumb and murder that comes isn't what he envisioned.
Imagine a contest to the death, sold to masses, they market as sport,
the contestants are criminals or they're slaves, so they target the poor.
You owe coin to the senate? A fair trade, they'll darken your door.
Sold to a ludus, the lanista spoke of the Rudis, to harvest them scores.
The carnage endured by the survivors of Carthage was warned,
fourth generation degenerate, I garnished the gore, and bargained for more.
Raised by the spatha, I was taught obey the laws of the sand,
study your opponents every move from his jaws to his hands.
Mimic the behaviors that bring the applause you command,
spill blood at any cost and watch them flock to the stands.
This opponent, like no other, his stance made of stone,
every jab, something cracked, his hands breaking bones.
The Undefeated Gaul, advanced on my throne,
my crown? a war helmet like those brandished in Rome.
My scepter is a gladius, the arena's my castle,
my kingdom's the coliseum, where the cheetahs are shackled.
Beasts. Wars. Feast? Corpse.
Priests. Tours. 'Feats? Yours.
Not a tier that I've dropped, climbed but never fell from yet.
Any fear that I'll flop - dies, designed to better sell the bets.
Two warriors step on the field, bleedin' for these rotten trolls,
added up to seem at odds with one another, even for a common goal.
But oh the Commodore, he doesn't know - that when he stands at will to call,
I will rise up from the sands as we have planned, to kill them all.
First the Commodore, his entourage and then we arm his slaves
then the legionnaires that dare attempt to sending harm our way!
The Dominus I grant no mercy to, all the men we warn today,
serve as proof, to curve pursuit or be met with swarms of blades.
We are Gods of the Arena, Legends of the fall,
In Blood & Sand, amongst the grand - pay penance for us all.
House to house we start revolts "Take Vengeance for the cause!"
The War of the Damned bares no winner, but Sentenced us to scars.
The price you pay for glory, is one bargained for in death.
To cut it short, it's the end of a sharpened sword with length.
We crumbled the foundation, til the pillars lacked support,
humbled a whole nation, until the senate backed accords.
And to think it all started as a sliver, of the killing that's enforced,
marketed as a mirror match of titans, so a thrilling clash? Of course.