Them that score goals
Don't generally
Write songs
And if they do it's
Not often that great
And have you seen them songwriters
Upon the sacred field?
They at least
A couple o seconds
Too late.

Working both floors
Like Joe Calzaghe
A flurry unrelenting
The nous to back off a bit

Moulded from a lad
By his dad
The cool Enzo
Who took over
When his trainer
Went silenzio

Bolstered the gym
Raised two other
World champions
In the small town of Newbridge
How could that have happened

Pushed Joe
When he was not sure
On and on and on
His boy he implored

To look within
And find more than himself
Through bust hands
And self doubt
Till there's nowt left

Enzo knew
Joey was about
To destroy
Three killers
Before he clocked out.

The elephants graveyard
Used to be underwater
So there be whales there
A necropolis like no other
And when the seas rise again
And cover it over
Might be
An amalgamation
Of one with the other.

What's black,white and red
And has trouble getting through
A revolving door?

A nun with a spear through her head.