my worn boots are covered in mud
my laces untied
like the fading spirit in my stride
the twenty twenty six breeze in the americas
tousles my hair
but cannot extinguish
the fire in my stare
knee guards dig deep into my skin
scattered boos begin
you say he's old now
can't keep the pace
a burden in this race
the young boy on his bike
died ten years ago at the bernabeu strike
you type with a sneer
mocking that fierce will
that stubborn tear
you cannot love him only when he wins
cannot turn a dreamer's journey into grins
i fear i won't make it to the next morning's light
if this battle marks the end of my long fight
give my departing back some final grace
don't prove that heroes fall from their high place
don't measure greatness with a common scale
the final whistle
a blunt knife's wail
cutting through four years of patient wait
no goals
no chances
sealed by fate
just one breakthrough
one stumble and fall
as i rise
i recall
that poor eightyearold boy kicking balls in the street
he brushed off the dirt
a silent farewell to the world cup's beat
i hear someone call
go home now
i wish i could go home
somehow
back to the child kicking stones in madeira's lane
to tell him
even if the crowd boos you with disdain
keep your head held high
brave the pain
old scars beneath my shin guard crack open anew
i blame no one
it's true
just sad that later on
no one in the stands will don
my number seven jersey for me
they'll be gone
you cannot love him only when he wins
cannot turn a dreamer's journey into grins
i fear i won't make it to the next morning's light
if this battle marks the end of my long fight
turn off the insults on the screen
look at that man's scars
so keen
those are the medals that time has given him
he walks to the tunnel
no turning back
no whim
he never bows his head low
the first rain of twenty twenty six starts to flow
wetting whose chest
we'll never know
what we mock
in truth
is the future we dare not live
the path we refuse
and the youth we're unwilling to lose
mom
i gave it my best shot
