A ball for a bullet,
A blade made of grass,
Or kerbstones made from needles,
And broken glass?

A free-kick that's given
You don't need to take,
It doesn't have a value,
Till it's given away.

A fix when you score,
Your team's winning goal,
A scratch on your record, adding some spin,
Mixing of people, Your Game's pulling them in.

Commentate; they'll all listen,
Young ones growing old,
Your Game becomes Their Game,
It's the way that it goes.

Once we were the future,
Soon we'll be the past,
Through Your Game we'll make changes,
And maybe they'll last.

“Your game is their Game” © Carmine Grimshaw