Any man that has my measure, come and meet me, face to face.
Then, with tools of our displeasure, let us roll about the place.
Do not distract us, one and all, our fate it rests on other's arms.
For who shall stand and who should fall, is left to draw on other's charms.
Through word or fist, or knife or draw, the world will show us in our shame,
And we shall leave from whence we came, our heads held high with our good name.
My father always told me that a man's last stand is a reflection of his character. When all reasonable options expire, he said, face your tormentor and trust the plant of your foot.