Let's set the scene of a familiar tale,
The sun has set and the crickets hushed,
A quiet hush rippling through the crowd.
The stage hiding in the shadows, waiting.
A rolling hill lit the way, out of the darkness;
Flags lining the beaten path of tired feet,
Footprints slowing etching in the path where daisies grew;
Before a quiet scene played out like a scene from a fairytale.
Children playing around the maypole,
Cricket matches on the village green,
Families collecting their crops from lush green fields.
A roar of words flew around this scene,
The green fields replaced with scarred land,
Factories rose from the ground;
Steam curling around the workers,
Who masked their faces with soot.
Golden rings sparkling in the sky with sweet promises.
Another hitch in the music sheet,
Then a flurry of dances tapping out different musical tastes,
Before people wear their team's colours,
The patriotic sense blooming all around this arena;
A dole of doves, a symbol of peace, fly around the blacken sky,
Their colour so bright it swells into a crescendo,
As the copper petals float up into the sky in a burst of flames,
As speeches declare the games open,
In the race against time to cross the finishing post.