When stress and tension are so high,
That you believe your stomach holds the weight of the sky,
Beat up a black, swinging punching bag
And leave your tensions behind to mangle, dangle and drag

Unleash the power bestowed within,
You may find doing so also unleashes a grin
Wild, almost psychotic, off-the-hook
The kind that makes passers-by turn and look

Hook, uppercut, jab and straight,
Doesn't matter which, leave that to fate
And put the sky back where it belongs
Out of your chest, because it fits wrong