Anfield Despair
¶ 1
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It should not have been this way,
but it was, to my dismay,
a game we really should have won,
seems now our season is all done,
we took the lead around their near post,
to banish our banal goal-drought ghost,
Liverpool had to equalize,
but i weren’t too worried coz Arsene’s wise,
enough to turn this all around,
to keep our feet all on the ground.
Our thoughts were of the spot-kick test,
a test at which we’re not the best,
a test, for which there was no need,
for both sides were destined to concede,
before the must-win game was over,
Torres! A bullet, in our top corner.
I didn’t think that was the end,
but hope, it is a cruel friend,
for Arsene stuck on more players up front,
Adebayor scored with a cheeky punt.
2-2! A draw that is a win!
What happened next was nothing short of sin,
The world’s softest penalty – to the pool,
of course it’s an un-written rule,
that Arsenal should never get the decision,
only the ref with the tainted vision.
Gerrard takes it, Liverpool score again,
Almunia flies, full-stretch, in vain.
Scrabbling fingertips painfully close to the ball,
Like how close we were before taking a fall.
At extra time we took every shot,
but didn’t give as good as we got,
Babel, cuts through the field like a knife,
killed our game, once so full of life.
And despite what I could pretend,
’89 is no comfort in the end.
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