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A wonderful Italian afternoon sitting on a cafe table
On a street which to regard at any time of day would be art
White clouds cover up above and the air is nicely cool
The atmospheric stage absorbs my bit-playing part
I breathe in the sky, open my eyes and so begins this fable.
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The metal toils along the ground as I tuck the chair away
Begin a walk down the road, each footstep brushing history
Think of all the millions who’ve been there, some under Roman rule
Thoughts and contemplations of the past are steeped in mystery
There is no time to recall what it means, there is no time to stay.
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Flowers sleeping or leaping from numerous unlikely places
Adding vibrancy and peaceful anarchy to the reds and greys
Which steady hysterical notions and invite appreciation of time
The sun is hiding underground and these are the rays
Blooming out with winsomeness blinding the people’s faces.
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Grass so exhausted and consumed it is akin to sand
Dry paths streak along where races have sweated
As competitors affirm themselves with an inconsequential mime
To the ones they follow and imitate they are eternally indebted
A component of all the things they want to be as dwellers on this land.
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Down every alley or beside every landmark a man is selling shirts
On the backs the names of our darlings who play in European leagues
Believing we can be like them if we worship their name
The words printed on meaningless colours soon fatigues
Those who must witness it and those it never hurts.
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Different stripes, hoops, plain and the rest all part of the glamour
We can praise those far away and rarely ever insult
The highlights of their splendour we see from their game
Leaving out the slip-ups which taint them but we still won’t revolt
If we did see the flaws, there would be no cause to clamour.
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A river ambles by as I stand and admire from a height
Behind me are the rush of cars and ahead the city goes on
This is nature blazing, proving it could make it to this age
A whistling constant that residents of urbanity rely upon
Specifics to be forgotten, intoxicated by the sight.
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Look up at large windows fixed into a building block
Against the glass are replicas of cups and scarves
Exhibiting their support for a team and where they spend their wage
Devotion is clear and when their rivals lose you will hear their laughs
But it always comes back round, every team can be a laughing stock.
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Out of the stadia come fans disgruntled and jubilant alike
Walking with their heads down or a spring in their shoes
Each week battling for the honour of the flag
Always hoping to avoid that unmistakable feeling when you lose
Which can make the simplest walk seem like a mountain hike.
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My eyes soon become worn out yet still they yearn for more
Then sit among the statues in a vast never-ending square
It is hard to conceive that enthusiasm in these surroundings could sag
Even the most hungry of hunters stripping the legends bare
Whilst opening a treasure chest of flames of which they never bore.
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Derbies may tear apart but tournaments unite
Protestations are shared regardless of intellect or class
Absurdity often becoming the weirdest celebration
As it gives a mouthpiece to those promoting the farce
But provides charming stories retold on a future night.
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A texture created by a harmony between two passionate forces
How it remains and is loved more by those who are this life
A growth occuring everyday and repeating each generation
Who can take pleasure in the beauty which exists in the strife
It will always be a marvellous delight to watch these merging courses.
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