It’s the end of the Euros as we know it.
When we needed it fast, we chose to slow it.
The gulf was too great for us to row it.
The grass was too long for us to mow it.
The rip was too large for us to sew it.
Our baggage was too big for us to stow it.
We had to play our best. We played below it.
It was hard for the fanciful poet.
We bought champagne but had to forego it.
We were downcast but chose not to show it.
The performance improved much, although it
sometimes seemed we were trying to throw it.
We’d a free kick but couldn’t Pirlo it.
We’d a dream but conspired to blow it.
Yes, it’s the end of the Euros as we know it
and I feel...