As the snow flies, a young man is taught,

His teachers were the streets and the fighters of Japan

The young man roams the streets at night,

Where he learns how to survive and learns how to fight

And his hunger burns.

As the world spins furthermore, the young man breaks away

Promises to his mama that it’ll all be worth it

He grows up, avoiding cubicles and business,

For his dream is in the squared circle, under the lights

Yet nobody wants him.

Undeterred, unfettered, he wraps his fists and gets his bag,

Hoping someday to carry gold around his waist

Under the adulation of a roaring crowd.

He tells it to his mama, that this is his dream –

And his mama cries.

The young man stresses the championships will be worth it

That this is why he can’t give her a grandchild,

For the ecstasy of gold as drawn him in

Swallowed him whole, in its eternal stomach

This has to be worth it.

Fighting with or against competitors in the trenches

Ready to battle, ready to knuckle up

Every bruise, every wound, every injury

No one will stop the king on his way to the crown –

May it rest well on his head.

Fighting like Mistuharu Misawa and Kenta Kobashi

Dressed in the attitude of The Great One and the Texas Rattlesnake,

The cup runneth over in that quest for the prize

The twinkle in the eyes and that flashy smile cannot hide

Passion and heart deep inside.

There’s nobody that deserves anything, in his mind

The riches of life must be earned and fought for

That’s what mama and the streets told him

It’s a cold world so bundle up,

It’s bound to get warm.

With a fire to light up the scene and a blazing way with words

He chills the masses to the bone

A man of his own kind, a punk and a rebel

Who throws up a middle finger to authority and sports entertainment

No on carries that love like he does.

With affection for others that even he does not know of,

He is the one to depend on to have your back

It cannot be faked, it cannot be duplicated,

The words that come out of his mouth –

Venom, laced with love.

Fortune would have it, that a big stage was meant for him

On a day everyone was put on notice by Eddie Kingston

When he lambasted and foul-mouthed a man up top,

A man he saw as someone born with a silver spoon in mouth

And slammed him on thumbtacks.

As with the Touch of Midas, the allure of gold blinded him,

Turned him against friends and allied with worse ones

That crowd keeping him in the streets-mentality,

It took a helping hand from an old friend he stood against,

To pull him out of that dark hole.

Say what you will, he says, but living the life he had,

That moment when the countdown reached zero,

Life counting down with the explosives,

Anxiety rising and rising, until he collapsed on his former foe

In the midst of hell on earth.

With, or without his gang, Jon Moxley wasn’t going to die alone

Following a war of barbed-wire and fiery explosives –

Only for that to not be the case, never to be the case

For the foolish cleaner constructed a dud of a bomb

Jon and Eddie live to see tomorrow.

The fog had been lifted and Eddie saw things clearly

There was more to the chase

More to fame and glory

And it was there in true, unconditional camaraderie

A title as good as the belts.

Both men from a world of blood and guts,

Both having ran from places that did them wrong

Eddie – from a life of socioeconomic turmoil

And Moxley from a watered-down world

Aligned in devastating power.

When you hear that bell ring, when you hear music of the streets,

Know that is the soundtrack while people fight, fight for their dreams

As the knuckles hit the flesh and knees hit the stomach

All for the claim to the prize, and know the fight stops not there,

It stops as you pull the ladder down.

Know that someone fought to lower it down, that ladder –

Climb each rung, until you reach the very top

With the understanding people like Eddie battled for this,

For the hope that you can battle out of every dark pit,

Be it environmental or within your mind.

Never was he to become someone else,

He’s still the type to wear the brass on his fist

And punch your lights out, when his strong style doesn’t work

Until you’ve both bled that blood away,

Like some dying animals.

But no longer is he the man to turn on a good mate,

He’s not the one to turn on us, or the thing we love

Eddie understands this beautiful thing of ours,

And he fights for the name of it all,

For professional wrestling.

Kingston is the one to get back up after being beaten like a dog

And spitting out a bloody tooth with a grin,

Firm in the belief this opponent must be sent to the hospital

Staunchly in the approach he must end a career

And do it with no regrets.

This is the pain that he fought for, tooth and nail

With a fist made of iron and the other of steel

So, you better step aside, or you’ll wish you’ve died

And if the right one don’t get you, the other one will –

Can’t no one make him walk the line.

No one has the heart or the passion like he does

Nobody on any channel, nobody in any ring

Take it to your heart, for his is made of gold,

That he will get up each time he is knocked down

He can do this all day.

This world was turned upside down once he walked into Daily’s Place,

Heart and soul of the company made his name known on that big stage,

Eddie Kingston will stand tall, holding the belt, bathed in cheers,

It was worth it he says, with tears in his eyes and pride in his heart

As his mama cries.