We taste our on blood
and the injuries, they last;
But never long enough to create a wound
and let reminisce the past.
The tangling affairs and neck grips
are all part of the game,
We play hard, with sportsman spirit,
never two days are the same.
We push and fall, hold and rise;
Don’t need anyone, for one another we are suffice.
Bandages and bruises,
honour our pride;
and the wars, they don’t last,
they dawn with the light.
Through the storms and waves, we hold tight,
not letting each other give up; for alone a lion never makes a pride.