Spurs again. Oh woe and woebegone.
¶ 1
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It always seems to turn out like this
Oh woe and woebegone
One step forward, another step back
Always changing colours
Like an indecisive chameleon
West Ham back to square one
Blasted into orbit by North London
Neighbours, Spurs sweet as sugar
Lord of that name
Will be pointing in one direction
Yes Graham Potter, you’re fired
It had to be the noisy neighbours
If not geographically precise as such
And just when it began to look
As if corners had been turned at
Forest, a fortnight ago
False dawn
Just plunging into the darkness
Of a lonely, desolate wilderness
Where haunting nights
Leave claret and blue
Bloodied stains
Flooding copiously from
Tired and weak eyes
Hammers now fraught and frazzled
Hot and bothered
The Slough of Despond
Desperately seeking some
Light at the end of the tunnel
But only painful despondency
Drags around their leaden feet
The end of the world
Not quite
Just blurred vision
And broken hopes
After sanguine summers
Of hope and perhaps
Redemption
But, now the brick wall
Has been hit with a vengeance
Spurs hit a hat-trick on the day
But apparently it could have been
Far worse
Set pieces leave
Claret and blue bastions
In tatters and shattered
Morale now sunk to a new low
In the bottom three
Of the Premier League
Frank, yes you have to be
Honest,
No doubting this Thomas
Danish pastries
All around
Another season of
Gruelling gruesome winters
For our East End heroes
It could be the longest
And most dramatically
Disastrous season
For residents at the
London Stadium
Oh please can we
Watch this season
Through bunched hands over our
Angry, disgusted eyes?
Potter, it’s time
To find the right
Earthenware clay
For craft and guile
But from where
We hardly know
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