When I wrap my hands in adhesive tape,
That’s when I finally start to escape.
Reality’s clutches begin to weaken,
I feel no pain, no matter how beaten.
Standing in that ring, nothing else matters.
My problems melt away as the blood splatters.
By day, I’m crippled by worry and strife.
By night, I’m dangerous and larger than life.
The road takes its toll, and it barely pays a dime,
But my debt all disappears when it’s showtime.
My pockets may be empty, at times it’s hard to cope,
Yet my soul is full of fire in-between those ropes.
The ringbell tolls, sounds echo through the hall,
Lock-up, irish whip, and thus begins the brawl.
We kick, we claw, we scratch and we bite.
Our blood, sweat and tears glisten in the spotlight.
I command the crowd without saying a thing,
I can make them cry and I can make them sing.
Back and forth we go, trading holds and shots.
Hear those people roar when we hit high spots.
Taped up, beat down, drenched in perspiration.
The sea of fans leans forward in anticipation.
The star of the show, my name on the marquee.
I pick up the win, two falls out of three.
I walk to the back, off comes the adhesive tape.
Reality returns and ends my sweet escape.
The adrenaline fades, and pain takes its place.
Muscles stiffen as I wipe the blood from my face.
I cover up my wounds, and pack up my gear.
The agony and artistry are just part of the career.
I jump into a car, where I put aside my pain.
And travel to another town, where it all begins again.