They killed the football club yesterday,
Threw it on the fire
And looked away.
Like it had never happened.
Like it wasn't 146 years.
Like it had all meant nothing.
Are we nothing but the toys of millionaires,
Who play games with our game?
It's grim up north they say
As if it's just a word
As if it's not all intended
As if it couldn't happen down here.
Empty streets that have had the happiness of their former years stolen,
Empty people this system has left to be broken.
The beautiful game never looked so ugly
As in the empty grounds, where people used to sing about the town.