Oh dear, I keep returning here To see, if by any old means, We've got ourselves out of first gear But always the same morbid scenes As an outsider gent looking in No solution seems that plain to me, But surely the time's running thin For Wagner and his company That said though, we've been here before And finding that miracle cure, Is something at which we're quite poor So success is by no means sure But sticking with how we are manned And acting more in hope and prayer, Is burying our head in the sand And ignoring what we should repair For before we know where we are This season will be out of reach, And for our local playmates, so far It's been like a walk on the beach While we're only finding quicksand Each time we edge forward at all, And any thoughts of that Premier League land Seem now like a mightily long call.
