It’s Only A Game
The final days, public in hysteria
Uniting yet inciting.
They call it fervour,
Splitting apart the mind and heart
Of those disposed.
Collective but not necessarily reflective,
A fan not always fantastic but fanatic.
July, two thousand eighteen.
All the world’s a TV screen.
Football and the ball is round;
Teams running, bounding
On a spree
To reach a goal that no goal-ee
For 90 minutes folk will weep or cheer
Men will fall, miss the ball,
Cards of red or cards of yellow
Referred by referee to tell all
Players who will bellow at the other fellow…
While one side of the stadium’s in tears,
Air defiant, the other cheers,
Some will go their way in stillness,
Some will go in ´killing-ness`.
It is a game only,
Not World War ´bloody` Three.
No one has died.
Two teams have played their best with pride.
Life carries on without a particle of shame.
It is, will always be a game.
World Cup 2018 -- Phil Galloway