England’s Messiah?
¶ 1
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Girls and boys rue their day
No team will come out to play
To lift their spirit up
By winning a World Cup
Remember the lush green and gold summer of Sixty-Six
When England played delightful tricks
When leather ball weaved and sped
Into German goalmouth bed
Oh for England youth who want to play
Not only for mansions of clay
A squad who can hit the back of net
Not out of town having a bet
The paying fans of England salute and toast
From cob-webbed terraces weary legged ghosts
Of that rustic day so long ago
Wish for them who play no more
When on that day when Anglo-Saxon rose bloomed
Medals in English shires proudly roomed
How the years sting! When will the famine close?
Argus and Cassandra vote in telling prose.
Now soccer academies are all the rage
But when will they inspire to turn back page?
When the crowds will they delight?
perhaps when dark Soho sees the light
And advocate ball skills
Before full cash tills
How can we exorcise this desire?
Where is that track suited England’s messiah?
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