Desk jobs,
Manual labour,
All unglorified work,
Stuff I can't imagine doing,
As I've grown with aspirations typical of a child,
With dreams of playing football,
In front of crowds of thousands,
Of being a hero to millions more,
Of playing in packed stadiums,
With atmospheres simmering like a cauldron,
Of hearing the fans constantly chanting,
Chanting my name...
It's the only thing I know,
The only thing I truly understand,
So to suddenly realise that my dream is dead,
Is heartbreaking...
I now know that I shan't be pulling on a famous jersey,
I know I shall be buttoning up a white shirt,
And knotting a black tie,
While heading to the grey train station,
For the rest of my dull life.
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