Clockwork Bloodsport

Verse 1
Beneath a copper-blistered sky, the airships groan and circle low,
Four-five-six souls in debt and dread, through gearlit gates they go.
A whisper calls from iron mouths — a game for those who fall,
Where childhood chants disguise the clang of fate’s metallic maw.
Verse 2
A doll-faced drone counts “One, Two, Dead” with eyes of molten glass,
Each step upon the rusted field resounds like shattered past.
Mistake? A blast of steam and bone beneath the judge’s beam,
No second chance in velvet scripts carved by the cogs that gleam.

Chorus
Tick, tick, goes the reckoning — one breath, one hundred million won,
Each soul erased, the pot inflates, the prize is bathed in crimson dawn.
But only one will ride the vault, while others feed the gears,
Clockwork bloodsport reigns supreme — the anthem of the spheres.

Verse 3
The playground's drawn in soot and brass, where toys are traps and lore,
A marble roll might seal your fate behind the smokewrought door.
No mercy from the watchers' perch, automata with no heart,
Just scribes of death in winding ink — mechanica of dark art.

Bridge
A twist of keys, a turn of fate — they gamble with their names,
No gods, no laws, no sanity in these infernal games.
The vault awaits the victor's hand — but at what cost to climb?
A throne of gold atop the bones of timepieces out of time.

Outro
So when the bell tolls once again and steam veils out the sun,
Remember what the children played when all was said and done.
A rhyme, a step, a final fall — then silence takes the floor.
The tournament is over. Close the vault. Seal the door.