I know I'm master of the game:
        For many heights I've scaled in vain
        The aim for me remains the same.

        I stand before the door of fame,
        A Caesar clad with ball and chain.
        The final triumph, mine to claim,
        Within my reach: must fight the pain!

        My foes around me whisper scorn,
        My mind must focus, endure the rise.
        That weight upon my shoulders borne:
        Succeed for glory, in failure demise.

        The wind blows cold against my face,
        The wet grass shivers 'neath my feet.
        Though hailed as master of my race,
        Attention draws to that odd heartbeat.

        The moment struck, the misplaced sigh,
        Do I lose my grace or stake my claim?
        And though in hindsight I start to cry,
        I know I'm the master of my game.

        My troops are battle-scarred and down,
        And though in sorrow, I feel no shame.
        I'll fight again to win my crown - 
        For I am the master of my game.


        Doggo.
        North Bank Think Tank.
        Written whilst pissed, stoned and gutted, 11:40ish 14/4/99