In the Arena Today

The dirt floor I lay
With sweat mingled with blood
Parched throat from the burning sun
Muscles aching, wounds that leak
Today the arena has left me weak
Nothing will stop me, but bad fortune
My goal is to survive, before exhaustion
Creating a sort of art with both of my blades
The longer I live, I might win this chase
To go forward must defeat another
Perhaps he is a foreign war prisoner
Perhaps one of the unarmed damnati
The heat of the afternoon sun smothers
Live in victory or die by dishonor
When finished let them burn my body
So I might finally enter Elysium