Football Poets

The Angel of Anfield

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The Angel of Anfield came down from heaven
He has a red scarf in one hand in the other a bible
He was watching the kids with their mothers, their aunties
And their uncles, their cousins, some twice removed,
their memories collected like rain in a shoe,
they were sat with the ould uns who spoke
Of Bill Shankly, they were sat with the young uns
who spoke of him too
And the Angel he smiled at the faces familiar
and watched the kids
With their fathers as they came to the table
and the songs they were singing
Went straight to his heart, there’s a girl on the kop
with the sun in her eyes
She looks for the past in the present of dreaming
The boy with his heart on the pitch with his heroes,
give him one chance
He could be Steven Gerrard…
Down on the sidelines with the wolves growing hungry
There’s “Le Boss” Gerard Houllier, Is time still his bride?
His moments of glory like our Liverpool buses
Nothing at all, then 3 all at once…
Thommo his passion still worn like a badge
Christ he’d pull on the red shirt
If he had the chance, but the wine once so sweet
Is now threatening to sour
And the Angel he sat amongst those come to worship
The husband, the wife, the girl gone 3 months, the newly engaged
And there’s those who are slaves to their pre teen age hormones
They gaze down at Harry with the thoughts of those older
Their make up too heavy their skirts way too short…
At the top of the house is the rustle of footsteps
They want to clear out the attic
Take a broom to the dust from the ghosts on the wall,
Progress or profit?
No one is talking, nobody is sure…
And the Angel he smiles at the girl on the kop
With the stars in her eyes
On the skin of her soul she has scribbled her words
The goals that she witnessed stitched to the soles of her dreams
There’s a prayer for the sold out the moments that passed by
The given the taken the blessed and the damned
There’s a prayer for the few going up from the many
There’s a prayer for a win
And a lone voice says grace for a forlorn Emile Heskey
There’s those wrapped in scarves those wrapped in flags those Wrapped in thoughts
That they know they should discard, still…
We can bask in the time that we all sit now as one, “you’re here” is What matters
And not where you’re from, with the truth still reflected
The colours of football, and life…
But the past is a warning a siren of fortune
Houllier Thompson the axe swift to blow
If you promise the earth then the earth you deliver
For we feed on much more than small bits of stone
The vine has now withered its riches deserted
Words nothing more than the rattle of death
The Angel looks on as he points to the future
All come and go, but the Reds never end
There’s a girl on the kop alone but not lonely
Remembers the journey the names there now different
But the passions the same, and the faces and memories remain
The kop starts to chant and they cheer on their heroes they’ve spent all
Their money and paid all their dues, their hearts joined together
Man Woman and Child, the lads in the red race out to their family
The roar for the redmen goes up to the stars…
And the Angel of Anfield he smiles again as he whispers:
“If we give up on Liverpool, we give up on life”.

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