POETRY – RHYME


Tribal Warrior:

Saturday morning fever, anticipation of the match,
Getting ready for action, the defending of our patch.
Tooled up for agro, the red & white Saints crew,
Skinhead Westwood bootboys, rabid anti blue.

Waiting for our revenge, for away day battle scars,
Now our turn to waylay, the scum in street and bars.
Pride of team and town, display of bottle and spunk,
Oblivious of the illusion, image of thug and punk.

Fired by speed and booze, addicted to lower animism,
Chanting herd collective, instinctual violent tribalism.
Where boys become men, their fear submerged in power,
Chance for their expression, distorted, base and sour.