The wheel spins, the bets are laid,
A game of hearts, a love parade.
They place their chips on numbers bright,
The ones with charm, the ones with might.
The ball of fate will roll and land,
On winning hands, the ones they planned.
No wager placed on broken dreams,
No hope for those with lesser means.
Their eyes chase red, their hearts want black,
But never green, no turning back.
A riskless game, they play so tight,
They only love what shines in light.
Yet here I stand, a number cold,
Unmarked, unplayed, a story old.
A silent slot, a wasted spin,
No luck, no love—how could I win?
The burden’s mine, this truth I bear,
That fate won’t stop, it doesn’t care.
The ball will rest where wishes gleam,
Not where the nameless dare to dream.
