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ASTLE IS THE KING

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 They sang it on the terraces
Someone daubed it in a bridge
In the middle of the plumed night
Back in ’68;
When all Evertonians
Lay soft in melancholic slumber.
In muddied white
We lifted the FA Cup;
Thanks to his extra-time,
Extra-special,
Thunderbolt.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Thirty years on
And the rivalry is still as fierce.
His crown is painted over
In the jealous black of midnight,
To be always scrawled again
In reverent dedication
By the stained-teeth light of lamposts.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/astle-is-the-king/