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.