Four clubs remain and three are English
The Champions League draws to a close
A five star team might make it six
So why am I feeling so … morose?
Chelsea again, hell bent on revenge
That Russian and his inane grinning
I think we can do it but what if we don’t?
Sheer torture to picture them winning
Beat United to live the sweetest of dreams
For ninety minutes I’d hold my breath
But imagine if the unthinkable happened
That’s a fate almost worse than death
Lesser of the evils; Italians from Milan
I pray it’s them in the old Athens’ bars
Who will it be? Que sera, sera
For that will be written in the stars