Mixed Zone
¶ 1
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Kind of strange standing here
Waiting for the players to herd past
And when they do
A sea of hands thrust dictaphones
And mouths shout questions
They’ve already been asked
Famous faces walk past me
Names that kids copy
And their Mums and Dads
But up close I’m not that bothered
Off a football pitch
We all walk the same way
And the ball which separates
The gods from mortals
Is nowhere to be seen.
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