The players of yesterday

They have all returned
In the harbour, they returned
With basketfull of flimsy reports on their loaded heads
This was when the match was soured
When the plan cuts apart and some hands were soiled

To give our victory and dreams away
But some were fair and their baskets was not full
Yet they carried the shame upon their innocent  heads
But are they guilty?
Yes' they were there when the golden pot was broken
When the inheritance,yes our inheritance of nobly labour

Were wasted, wasted away
But how can they forgot that they were trusted with questionable faith
To deliever our goods in the  eyes of the waiting harbour
which was dumped in the vagabonds cargo
That's why they lost the order of their fathers name
Because they spoiled the brook together

But when we retuned
And the match was sweet
Though, it was hard and dying
They gave us the pilgrims royal flowers

And to be seated in a kingly colt
Where our glorious hands and legs were being washed
And gave our names to the happy hall of fames

In this matred land
Where some wore a consciously coveted garments
And some wore a faintly faithful robes.