Rolltide14TOMB
10-16-2009, 07:57 PM
O Fish! my Fish! our fearful season is done;
Us fans have weather’d every sack, the prize we sought is gone;
The draft is near, Eric Berry I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady deal, the Front Office grim and cheap
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of blue,
Where on the deck our Quarterback lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O VINCE! my VINCE! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you cheers and toasts and excitement beckons—for you the stadium a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Vince! dear Vince!
These legs beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the field,
Your days of staying in the pocket have fallen cold and dead.
My Coach does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Kerry does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
Coach Fisher is anchor’d safe and sound, his voyage closed and done;
From playoff failure, the victor tailor, comes in with object won for he has managed the impossible,fitting alge for a suit;
Exult, O tailgates, and fire, all fireworks!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Titans lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
Us fans have weather’d every sack, the prize we sought is gone;
The draft is near, Eric Berry I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady deal, the Front Office grim and cheap
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of blue,
Where on the deck our Quarterback lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O VINCE! my VINCE! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you cheers and toasts and excitement beckons—for you the stadium a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Vince! dear Vince!
These legs beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the field,
Your days of staying in the pocket have fallen cold and dead.
My Coach does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Kerry does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
Coach Fisher is anchor’d safe and sound, his voyage closed and done;
From playoff failure, the victor tailor, comes in with object won for he has managed the impossible,fitting alge for a suit;
Exult, O tailgates, and fire, all fireworks!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Titans lie,
Fallen cold and dead.