Stiff's The Door.

Waiting to be contended
Champion stood watching from his chosen arena

his soon-to-be victim: A Fifteen-Foot WALL

looking down on him --Rang! th'bell
and Champion immediately let go his trumpets

marking Victory (impending)

& then struck up drums! (with the
appropriate tempo of terrible Triumph) and

rushed fully on Th'Wall (which just standing there

calmly poured down boiling oils upon him
& a couple-a tons-O bricks!

all over th'burnt-to-a-crisp & badly bruised (body)
of poor Good Champion
staggering backwards & giving the
first round to Th'Wall...)

"Maybe," thought Champion: "Just maybe
them trumpets weren't sufficiently martial, or
th'drums weren't beating out loudly enough
an impressive roll of confident Triumph..." So

he ordered up additional trumpets,
brought in a drummer from Detroit
with a nervous condition, and again

he sallied out to assail Th'WALL

again broken all up pretty badly by
the impregnable Wall (straightening out
his tool) Champion thought: "Well
now," whilst they scraped him off the floor
into th'bucket,                

       "At least: I am The One
with The Option (to attack)!" and spit out
his few remaining teeth over his blackened
hands--And not just only to put out the fire

still smoldering, but: "Maybe," thought th'
Champion: "Just maybe if I add a
couple-a-maracas & a few strings..."