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He's a goalkeeper
And he dreams of volleying human heads
But this is no random fantasy
I'm dishing out a yellow card for anybody thinking that
No
This is much much more
Than just the idle whim of a Sunday league shot-stopper
This dream has structure
It has design
It is imbued with tactics
4-4-U
A cooling tower would be utilized
Brimming with animal waste
A concoction of blood, bone, giblet and gristle
And perhaps a dash of ketchup
This goalkeeper loves the stuff
He can't eat anything savoury without it
His nickname in the dressing room is "Captain Squirt"
For blatantly obvious reasons
The time would have to be dusk
With the sunset shimmer still visible
He'd be running on the spot
Warming up
When a wheelbarrow would be brought to his side
Pushed by a lower division referee
Therein would be a selection of heads
Severed heads
Human heads
Preferably those of past felons
Ideally rapists and arsonists
But those of suicides and joyriders would do
With the Number One jersey on his back
His lucky charm tucked down his sock
And his favourite gloves fixed tightly on his hands
The game would begin
He'd grip the head with the face pointing up
He'd toss it lightly into the air
At the very instant it begins its descent
He'd swish his boot right through it
A solid connection would be heard
Punt
He'd side-step to his left
So as to admire its high arc
The spinning head would arrive at the cooling tower's rim
Then
Wait for it
Plop
GOAL!!!!
Fist the air
Perform a cartwheel
Dance a Brazilian dance
Glory
Glory
Glory
He's a goalkeeper
A shot-stopper
Number One
The last line of defence
They're a breed all unto themselves
Football is all about dreams
Or so the saying goes
And he dreams of volleying human heads
Into cooling towers filled with the dead
And he dreams of volleying human heads
But this is no random fantasy
I'm dishing out a yellow card for anybody thinking that
No
This is much much more
Than just the idle whim of a Sunday league shot-stopper
This dream has structure
It has design
It is imbued with tactics
4-4-U
A cooling tower would be utilized
Brimming with animal waste
A concoction of blood, bone, giblet and gristle
And perhaps a dash of ketchup
This goalkeeper loves the stuff
He can't eat anything savoury without it
His nickname in the dressing room is "Captain Squirt"
For blatantly obvious reasons
The time would have to be dusk
With the sunset shimmer still visible
He'd be running on the spot
Warming up
When a wheelbarrow would be brought to his side
Pushed by a lower division referee
Therein would be a selection of heads
Severed heads
Human heads
Preferably those of past felons
Ideally rapists and arsonists
But those of suicides and joyriders would do
With the Number One jersey on his back
His lucky charm tucked down his sock
And his favourite gloves fixed tightly on his hands
The game would begin
He'd grip the head with the face pointing up
He'd toss it lightly into the air
At the very instant it begins its descent
He'd swish his boot right through it
A solid connection would be heard
Punt
He'd side-step to his left
So as to admire its high arc
The spinning head would arrive at the cooling tower's rim
Then
Wait for it
Plop
GOAL!!!!
Fist the air
Perform a cartwheel
Dance a Brazilian dance
Glory
Glory
Glory
He's a goalkeeper
A shot-stopper
Number One
The last line of defence
They're a breed all unto themselves
Football is all about dreams
Or so the saying goes
And he dreams of volleying human heads
Into cooling towers filled with the dead
Fabulous but that's definitely one training session I wouldn't be bothered about watching from the sidelines!
*licks jim-hat's face*
This is why I love Black Glove.
I was bedevilled by some mad poetic spirit yesterday. I found myself writing about dwarves and gnomes watching strip-teasing slyphs near river banks... I think it's gone now. But thanks.
Quality.
:D Excellent!
He's a goalkeeper
And he dreams of volleying human heads
But this is no random fantasy
I'm dishing out a yellow card for anybody thinking that
No
This is much much more
Than just the idle whim of a Sunday league shot-stopper
This dream has structure
It has design
It is imbued with tactics
4-4-U
A cooling tower would be utilized
Brimming with animal waste
A concoction of blood, bone, giblet and gristle
And perhaps a dash of ketchup
This goalkeeper loves the stuff
He can't eat anything savoury without it
His nickname in the dressing room is "Captain Squirt"
For blatantly obvious reasons
The time would have to be dusk
With the sunset shimmer still visible
He'd be running on the spot
Warming up
When a wheelbarrow would be brought to his side
Pushed by a lower division referee
Therein would be a selection of heads
Severed heads
Human heads
Preferably those of past felons
Ideally rapists and arsonists
But those of suicides and joyriders would do
With the Number One jersey on his back
His lucky charm tucked down his sock
And his favourite gloves fixed tightly on his hands
The game would begin
He'd grip the head with the face pointing up
He'd toss it lightly into the air
At the very instant it begins its descent
He'd swish his boot right through it
A solid connection would be heard
Punt
He'd side-step to his left
So as to admire its high arc
The spinning head would arrive at the cooling tower's rim
Then
Wait for it
Plop
GOAL!!!!
Fist the air
Perform a cartwheel
Dance a Brazilian dance
Glory
Glory
Glory
He's a goalkeeper
A shot-stopper
Number One
The last line of defence
They're a breed all unto themselves
Football is all about dreams
Or so the saying goes
And he dreams of volleying human heads
Into cooling towers filled with the dead
And he dreams of volleying human heads
But this is no random fantasy
I'm dishing out a yellow card for anybody thinking that
No
This is much much more
Than just the idle whim of a Sunday league shot-stopper
This dream has structure
It has design
It is imbued with tactics
4-4-U
A cooling tower would be utilized
Brimming with animal waste
A concoction of blood, bone, giblet and gristle
And perhaps a dash of ketchup
This goalkeeper loves the stuff
He can't eat anything savoury without it
His nickname in the dressing room is "Captain Squirt"
For blatantly obvious reasons
The time would have to be dusk
With the sunset shimmer still visible
He'd be running on the spot
Warming up
When a wheelbarrow would be brought to his side
Pushed by a lower division referee
Therein would be a selection of heads
Severed heads
Human heads
Preferably those of past felons
Ideally rapists and arsonists
But those of suicides and joyriders would do
With the Number One jersey on his back
His lucky charm tucked down his sock
And his favourite gloves fixed tightly on his hands
The game would begin
He'd grip the head with the face pointing up
He'd toss it lightly into the air
At the very instant it begins its descent
He'd swish his boot right through it
A solid connection would be heard
Punt
He'd side-step to his left
So as to admire its high arc
The spinning head would arrive at the cooling tower's rim
Then
Wait for it
Plop
GOAL!!!!
Fist the air
Perform a cartwheel
Dance a Brazilian dance
Glory
Glory
Glory
He's a goalkeeper
A shot-stopper
Number One
The last line of defence
They're a breed all unto themselves
Football is all about dreams
Or so the saying goes
And he dreams of volleying human heads
Into cooling towers filled with the dead