Cod Almighty | Article
11 October 2011
I was the one who held the knife.
I was the one cut Town from my life.
I was the one who put kids and wife
I'm the one who has a hole in his life.
I'm the one who made the slice.
I'm the one who has no vice.
Look how those lines shorten...
That's not the last ellipsis.
Am I another Oasis?
Sad tribute acts.
N'thing b't f'cts.
I'm the one who doesn't know Hearns.
I'm the one who can't see if Coulson earns.
I'm the one who one can help you learn.
It's rubbish not having Town. Seeing them up (faintly
remembered), seeing them down (forever
dismembered). So much gone: No personal link, no
national ink. Too many new players. Too many
forgotten prayers. Pontoon friends and Saturday
ends... Saturday has no punctuation, Saturday has no
termination. A beer, no tear. To bed. Then Sunday
morning MotD instead. Reds and blues and shine my
shoes; ready for Monday and nothing to say.
It's rubbish not having Town. Just real life to make
me frown. I'm not one of the boys, not got no cool
toys. Am I still allowed to read the Diary? Has it got
anything to do with me? Can I write about funny,
funny Fenty? Town give me choice, Town give me voice.
I'm available for birthday parties, christenings
and there's even a wedding.
I can help choose bedding!
I can catch up on my shredding...
It's rubbish not having Town. How many 'i's in sigh?
Pick and choose my games is a lie. And it's not the
football I miss, it's Blundell Park's cold kiss. The
familiar chill that could sometimes thrill. It should
never be a treat. It could never be a treat. Familiarity
breeds content, absence puts your heart up for rent.