he played before the war.
He was magical with the football,
and by God he made us roar.
We saw him on the newsreel,
he was talking to the king
He played for England once,
but now it doesn't mean a thing
His cartilage went at thirty -one,
He left the game at thirty -three
you know he couldn't hold a job
The only skill he'd ever had
So in the pub he talks of when
Girls were girls and men were men
But now the only fuss he makes
Is with a glass that someone takes
He thought the world would not forget
That he could live forever on
But legends mean so little
As boys create new heroes
He never goes to see a game,
he reckons now it's all the same
Nameless numbers run like heirs,
the joy is gone but no one cares
His wife deserted years ago,
his kids have gone abroad.
He spends his time with scrapbooks
of the many goals he scored.
And on his wall a photograph
He played for England once,
but now it doesn't mean a thing
4.7
