Strongest team in the land
¶ 1
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oh, I feel so sleepy
and ever so weepy
tears, trickle down my face
they form a pool, on my pillow case
that pool, will become a lake
for my emotions, I cannot fake
and that lake, will become a sea
choppy waves, as far as the eye can see
and even if I close my eyes
it comes as no surprise
that once more, the nightmare creeps
into my fragile mind, it seeps
and like dynamite, it explodes
but first, it goads
it proffers up a vision
of a mighty asteroid collision
all football suspended
while the earth’s wounds are tended
and my team is temporarily saved
for a while, I’m not quite so enslaved
the accursed threat of relegation
shelved, by a star-crossed delegation
but reality dawns, and so does morning
demotion a certainty, as I wake up yawning
¶ 2
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and my team –
of whom I so often dream?
¶ 3
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well, you see, the trouble is, I love the number 92
and so it is, I support the team, of any hue
their name, at seasons beginning, unplanned
yet they’re the strongest team, in all of the land
for at season’s end, there’s always 91 teams above
they’ll have jostled for position, but when push comes to shove
they prop up the whole of the English Football League
and no matter however much the Premiership may intrigue
my loyalty, is true and unbending
even tho’ every year, there’s always an unhappy ending!
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