The Fan

I could never picture life as a United fan,

Each week’s the same old fight,

Hopes built high just tumble down,

As rivals shine so bright.

They talk of past days filled with pride

But those golden years are gone,

Now every match feels like a slide,

While rivals just march on.

They chase a dream that drifts so wide

The gap grows year by year,

At last their fight has died inside.

...

Márton Bence XII. R