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These sadistic tendencies we all possess
To bear witness to the frustration ahead
They don’t roll the ball with a gentle caress
They hit and hope until our spirit is dead.
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Another ball comes flying and no-one is there
No Hugo Sanchez with a overhead kick
Yet we remain because we’re the ones that care
As we’re face to face with another wall of brick.
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Introduce them with theories of time and space
But not of the kind that Hawking debates
It’s all about keeping up with the pace
To be the ones in control of our fates.
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Longing for the sweetest sound on the pitch
That whoosh of the ball gliding into the net
All things going to plan no sign of a hitch
The game is now on time to play your bet.
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Wanting the whistle to be a welcome relief
Signifying we’ve hung on and avoided defeat
Better than when that shrill peep meant grief
Sloping off the pitch having felt the heat.
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Then it all comes back again and start from square one
A new week a new time to leave us on edge
Demanding everything the sadness and the fun
All in this attempt to move further from the ledge.