This ain’t Wuthering Heights, This is Turf Moor
¶ 1
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‘Tis a wild wind that blows
Across the East Lancs moors
Turning blues purple whilst
Clarets glow knowingly
¶ 2
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Coyle wrapped up all 3 points
Whilst Bruce wrapped up warm
Feels the bitter ice of defeat
¶ 3
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On the road Burnley’s house as brittle as sticks
But at home Turf Moor a fortress
¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Against the ill wind of misfortune.
20
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