Profits or Prophets?
¶ 1
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The King is gone
Not quite dead
But defeated, unwanted….
Obituries sigh and mourn
The football deathlike the pulse thudding
But the hopes wiltered
A kite without its string
To tease it into life
Real fans and false prophets
Or is it profits?
Speak of Roma nights
And Dortmund Square
I was here
I was there
But now you
My Captain
My King
Another fading dream
On the well worn road to nowhere.
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