That's a sugar skull.
Egging you on, walking your terraces,
those bastards in claret and blue,
half past a laugh at your stupid arse,
global manifestation of memories past.
You bunch of fools, spoon fed like your bread winner was brain dead,
I am a liar, I will go and thieve,
but the convictions I hold I treasure, not grieve.
Smashing on through your perverse concoction of wannabes and hasbeen's.
I'm leaving you with what's left in your head.
NOTHING.
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