City, city, city. City, Man city. Living in the city. Manchester city. Colin Bell, Frannie Lee. Neil Young, Mike Summerbee. Rodney Marsh, Alan Oakes. Tommy Booth and Tony Book.
Matador impaled upon the horns of the beast. Tossed and flipped, a sequined rag-doll. This frightened, tortured, mutilated animal. Has got it's own back once and for all.
54 inch around the chest. Stitching ripping on his vest. Biceps, triceps, ready to flex. A gold medallion around his neck. He looks more like the Michelin Man.
Oh, where are you now George?. Now that wingers have been laid to rest. And shirts have adverts across their breast. And it's all about who's the richest.
All the runners running downhill. All the throwers with strap-on muscles. Gold, silver, and bronze. To the designer-drugs and anabolic steroids. Random testing doesn't exist.
Business bought the athletes out. With gold medals and role models. Drugs and media and national pride. Why join in when you can watch it on TV?. So out of the stadiums!.
Come on admit it, it never crossed the line. Geoff Hurst's goal in extra time. In the Third World War at Wembley '66. When England won again, to make it a hat-trick.
From Coca-Cola to TV politics. Cruise missiles to chicken-in-buckets. From words and images to advertising. From Colonel Sanders to cop-car sirens. And now the American Football circus.
Heysel stadium, it's easy to remember. How the game continued despite the disaster. "With all those millions of viewers, we've got to carry on. It would be financial suicide to stop at this point.".
When you ran 'round the block. And you thought you were going to die. You said you'd never run again. And then you had another try. And you felt a little better.
Barry John was the king of Rugby Union. He was fast and agile and extremely good-looking. All you'd see would be a flash of red. Wales were best, 'cause he used his head.
Outside the ground at Luton Town. A crazy opportunist has sprayed upon a wall. A simple proclamation for all to read. "Revolution is a better game than football".
After wading through the flooded toilets. To stand on the crumbling concrete steps. Wind and rain beating in your face. You mumble football's favorite phrase.
Looked into the sky, walked another mile.. Watching snowfall take its time to the ground,. To bury this town.. . Yeah, one step at a time walking on the line..
Took a walk in Rotterdam, thinking about her train.. All along the banls of memory, holding tide away.. And on the end of every corner i could almost hear her sound..
The tired winds blow. And the restless go home. And the haggard lies down to sleep. Where the hours go slow. And the beauty we know is the love. That is the key.
I could walk for miles. looking for those eyes. to see the light I need.. Before the darkness. comes sealing up my fate.. . Yea and listen close. for the ringing tone.
Another full moon sky,. through the trees and filtered light.. And the silence oh my dear,. is the storm now drawing near.. . Let it rain. I don't mind..
Heading east on 20, out of downtown Birmingham.. Clocking 57 days on the road.. The rig is still rolling. on to south Carolina,. Me and the boys got one more show to go..
Let Water Wash Away, the shore of bleeding pain.. And erode to start anew, on foundations once consumed.. . Glory [x4]. . Pay homage with that pain. And relish all the same..