My life is in danger
The flames getting higher
Please phone nine-eleven
My chariot's on fire

I traveled through history
To write a satire
The Age of the Caesars
The Roman Empire

The largest arena in the world
Has plenty of space
To stage for the mob a spectacle
A chariot race

The Emperor takes his velvet seat
The trumpeters blow
The crowd is now screaming for our blood
There's eight laps to go

A row of bronze dolphins
That's how they keep score
It all looks familiar
I've "Ben Hur" before

A chariot Grecian
With blades on its wheels
Messala just bought it
For its "dissects" appeal

A bolt hurtles downward from the clouds
From one of the gods
It sets everyone of us alight
Just figure the odds

The crowd's going wild to watch us burn
It gives them a thrill
If I could invent the bomb right now
The whole lot I'd kill

A young girl named Caithness
From "The Hunger Games"
What will she reveal now
Her toga's in flames

Here comes Waylon Smithers*
In red, white and blue
He's lined up behind me
And he's flaming, too

I think we're all screwed
Send a rescue crew
The fire brigade too
A slave girl or two
(Fade back to 21st Century where such violent entertainment is no longer fashionable.)