The wheels forever spinning. The dice are thrown and scatter. The words are all of winning. But only numbers matter. We bet on our existence. We'll last another round. The lucky go the distance. The losers go to ground. From birth to death we gamble. The lots are daily cast. No warning or preamble. Which one will be your last. There is a great comfort in pure hatred. For envy's not enough not enough. The soothing joy of malice. Is made of sterner stuff sterner stuff. The failure of a father. The torment of a son. Is a recipe to justify. The worst that could be done. He'll destroy us unless we call a halt. Should the bastard steal our birthright. It will be our fault. The race is won by cunning. A terrifying dance. Too complex in the running. To leave it all to chance. But chance is all we're given. So chances we must take. The gambler's stake is driven. Through hearts that dare not break. But all save one are broken. As fatal points are scored. And one surviving token. Holds sway across the board. There's a moment when the game's balance. Tilts the other way the other way. When the odds begin to favour. Outsiders in the play in the play. The failure of incumbents. The sleazy tricks they use. Mean that those who think they call. The tune can only lose. Deal the cards it won't matter how they fall. Because nothing is a gamble when you want it all