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And I’m still around?
On my way to somewhere, I don’t know
Someone else’s ground.
With someone else’s weather on the window
Those jokers in the rain on a snooker club car park.
My train, seriously stalled by some barbed wire
Makes a Venn diagram of our separate Saturdays.
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Here come Sunday’s headliners
To lift our hearts and send us into dreams
Picture the next Keith Walwyn
On Monday’s chip papers blowing in the breeze
At the station where businessmen and tourists
Look for yesterday’s heroes
In museums and cathedrals.
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Sadness is worth a minute of today
Not for squandered points or price of beer
But for three sides of someone else’s ground
Silent with their memories shared out loud.
Next they will demolish the ground
And we’re still around?