Our Voltaire
¶ 1
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He first arrived from Gillingham, post title ninety three
Straight away he brought us on a Euro odyssey
He wanted things done properly, but much to his dismay
He saw the running style of Plonk and had to walk away
It broke his heart to do this, his regret was not disguised
He had put us on the right track, the next week we had a prize
He left us at the summit, playing football with finesse
After this the club stagnated, started to regress
Eleven years they passed, our fortunes more or less benighted
But fate it interceded so we’d again be reunited
When evil was dispelled before its cohorts started thumbing
It was like the Stone Roses in that we sensed a second coming
You led us to the promised land, a real life fairy story
We put our trust, the trophies came, with power and with glory
¶ 2
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A thoroughly ebullient man, his style is quite loquacious
His use of the Queens English was nothing but salacious
To listen to his discourse, like a gift sent down from heaven
No one could put it finer while naming their 1st eleven
When asked for sound bite any time, words they were spontaneous
His turn of phrase divine, he stands alone contemporaneous
A gentleman, a leader, truth and honour his vocation
He had no time for sycophants, they knew the gates location
You instilled mental fortitude, your style was visionary
We couldn’t read your programme notes without a dictionary
Even after being let go, philosophical was his view
Do not hold grudges because grudges they’ll hold you
Thank you for the memories, the words and silverware
Farewell Damien Richardson, our hero, our Voltaire
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