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DIY drained isolation, football fan finds sweet salvation,
The whip is cracked, as lion roars, gladiators to the fore,
Sirens scream, from chaos comes,
whistle blown, game begun.
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Spate of signings take the field,
‘Kiss the badge’, an agent squeals,
Kicking heels, the substitute, a waiting game in parachute, on free
fall into someones plans, a football whore, a prostitute.
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Opera starts, as players find,
Formation tinkered, jobs on line,
Ball is kicked, between the lines,
Tension mounts, disciples cry,
No defence, no pence, sold watered wine.
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Bookies bet on first to go,’ purely paper talk’,
Public hanging, ten to five, see the dead man walk,
Saturday come yet leave no taste without a win to provocate,
the local rival, to feel at ease, to form debate, and shoot the breeze,
Could Cardiff call come summertime? Ticket printed, team inscribed,
Captains hands placed on the cup, no longer unrequited love.