He hit the canvass cold last night; that impressive frame and charismatic soul father, son and consummate brother went down for the proverbial 10 count; complete with iron band and Iroquois tap out pipes and that fashionable Frank Smith vein
there was no grudge in this match no condemning contest or mad cap bout just mano a mano with the dark apparition and it played out precisely (despite the bills and pressing deadlines and calls from Christ) it came with tears and fear in that decisive and surrealistic voice from the ridge
they all arrived; on plains and trains valiants and fat boys from across seas and remote hills bringing tales and sorrow angels, laborers and mourners in mass with eagle wreathes and adorning pine
it was cited as natural but there ainβt nothing natural about The Heater going down nothing natural for the mauy thai bossman with black leather gloves and golden heart the giver of hope to those blue collar dreamers