Man in black blues

Over the terrace the wet wind blows
There's ice in my hair and a cold in my nose
The coins come shimmering out of the sky
I'm a league referee, I don't know why.
A tackle, a dive: which is worse?
Each comes wrapped in a four letter curse.
A wet yellow card, name in the book:
Tyson would be proud of that last left hook.
The spit comes spattering out of the sky
I'm a league referee, I don't know why.
I run to the spot, free kick, indirect.
Off to the left there are seats being wrecked.
They scream that I haven't got eyes in my head
They howl that my parents have never been wed.
Will I ever get home, will I get to my car?
The pain throbs deep in my hernia scar.
There's mud in my whistle and spit in my eye,
I'm a league referee, I don't know why.