Gamut her, Rhythm her

Running games,
Getting clamber
Who wins and who loses,
That question echoes everywhere.

Feel the rush,
People laughing
Who, then, has come
The way to celebrate your drubbing.

No longer will outperform,
Then stabbed in the back and wait for
Someone to sit on the edge of defeat
Now it’s turn came,
Someone seems to be correct.

Black-and-white juxtapositionly,
Only aim is a vanquished
Each side has animatedly,
Who is going to turn now betrayed.

Why are people laughing,
Who’s getting it?
Who is gonna come and whispering in
her honor?

Because the game is no more to it,
With all her strength
Dance on the tip of her fingers all;
Gamut her, rhythm her
Come meet me, I’m Striker, the intrinsic
performer of the jollification.

Tranquillity, take turns thriller. 🐾