An ode to a footballer’s end
Bury me standing up
I’ve been carried around
long enough,
let me stand
don’t lay me down,
Plant me deep,
plant me straight,
plant me with my boots on tight!
Make sure
I can see the big white sticks
and hear the distant roar
of fans I once ignored
but most of all
bury me standing up,
bury me standing tall,
I may have played
below my height
I may have taken
all those cheap kick-ins
and ran passed for handballs
to bolster the stats
but please, at the end,
bury me with my boots on,
bury me standing tall,
bury me standing straight,
as if I am ready
To crash through Heaven’s gate.
I know I never crashed a single pack
but my soul may do
what the flesh could not
so bury me standing
bury me straight
bury me with my boots on.
And on my gravestone
etched for all to see
bury me with a symbol,
no not the CFC,
rather a simple $
to remind all
of the money I commanded.
So bury me straight,
bury me tall,
bury me standing
with my boots on.
And call my sponsors,
tell them what you’ve done,
tell them they can stick a Nike sign
On my headstone.
But in the end
get one thing right
bury me standing
bury me upright
don't lay me down,
don't lay me flat,
bury me with my boots on
and bury me standing straight.
_________________ This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!
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