It must have been one hundred and five He was steaming hot with rage Santos saw the red in the sky They just released him from his cage This was not the day he'd let a sword come in between him and ken What he failed to understand is that the blade would not break or bend He scrambled to start his attack Burned rubber turned the air black Charged forward stabbed in the back A yellow flame flared in his eye And made him numb like novocaine The crowd around could read his mind They were calling out his name Santos got his balance and persisted to walk towards ken Each step getting slower till he stood beside him facing the end I can remember his face Ken sweating perplexed and disgraced A runner without a race