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John Lennon

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Did not play much football
And when he raced across Strawberry Fields
He ghosted between the spaces of childhood
Slipped unnoticed behind the gaps
Where nothing is real
Except the Eccho of the past

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 He didn’t stand on the Kop
Or jostle with the Gwladys Street
He was too busy mastering the chords
To Twenty-Flight Rock
Working out the angles to Johnny B Goode
Rather than the 30 yard pass

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 But he gave the people their songs to sing
Carried their accents to the corners of the world
Where those sculptured sounds mingled
Within a sense of rhythm scribbled down in Ye Cracke
Between the Rock and Roll of snide arrogance
And the cold concrete pavements of sarcastic despair

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Like Plato in his cave Lennon had his cavern
Sweating screaming seething
A volley of verbs
A net full of narks
A curling cross of Christ-like cacophonies
De do dat dialectic Scouseland

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Our John full of grace and truth
Never went the match but
Like that other proud socialist Shankly
He made the people happy.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/john-lennon-3/