Jump into my car and come with me.
We'll take a little trip to Bobby's tree.
We can talk about Bobby on the way.
The boy so lovingly missed every day.

Bobby Colleran, a city's heart he broke.
Because scousers are that kind of folk.
We never, ever forget such a tragic time.
That's why I'm proud of this city of mine.

Now at the tree a cold wind does blow.
A blue plastic windmill twirls to and fro.
Messages in ink through rain now faded.
The winter branches all bare and jaded.

An Everton scarf stretched out up high.
As the sun peeps out in the now blue sky.
Suddenly that windmill now seems at rest.
It withstood the assault of that windy test.

All now seems peaceful around this shrine.
Nature at play, or maybe a Heavenly sign?
I paid my respects, like thousands before.
Then the howling wind returned once more.