Farewell those lads who played a fine game,
Throughout this world they brought us fame,
Long live their memories God Bless them all,
They've shown the world how to play football.
Don't lets forget reporters as well,
Who had many a fine forecast to tell,
Such a sad loss for us to lose,
Those men who brought us all the news.
In our hearts we know not why,
These famous lads all had to die,
We bow our heads and cry in shame,
Such a terrible loss to the football game.
United they stood, United they fell,
What a great shock for English football,
The time will come when once again,
"Come on United", you'll rise to fame.
Such names like Taylor, Pegg and Byrne,
Jones, Colman, Whelan and Bent,
Will linger on and some day return,
So it's not goodbye but just farewell,
For in the future who can foretell,
The lads to come will try their best,
For those gallant lads laid to rest
Kindly used with the permission of Mr & Mrs Charlie & Sylvia Griffiths of Swinton, England
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One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory
Eight men who will never play again who met destruction there
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester
Matt Busby's boys were flying, returning from Belgrade
This great United family, all masters of their trade
The Pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.
The third time down the runaway disaster followed close
There was a slush upon that runaway and the aircraft never rose
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of the team were killed as the blazing wreckage burned.
Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor who were capped for England's side.
And Ireland's Liam Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died
Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David Pegg also
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.
Big Duncan he went to, with an injury to his brain
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again
The great Sir Matt Busby lay there, the father of his team
Three long months passed by before he saw the team again.
The trainer, coach and secretary, and a member of the crew
Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew
and one of them Big Swifty, who we'll ne'er forget
the finest English 'keeper that ever graced the net.
Oh, England's finest football team its record truly great
its proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there
the flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
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Twas the night before Christmas, Old Trafford was bare.
The staff all gone home, there was nobody there..
The lights cast a shadow, a soft glimmer which
lit up the soft green grass on the pitch.
Just as the clock gave out its twelfth chime
An old man appeared, as if frozen in time.
He gazed at the tunnel, then broke out in voice
"ITS TIME TO BEGIN.. LETS HAVE YOU MY BOYS"
Then out from the tunnel appeared a lone figure
The same as in life, but infinitely bigger
The old man called out as he slowly drew near
"Good evening Duncan, are the rest of you here"
The figure broke out in wide open smile
"Good Evening Sir Matt, it has been a long while
"The rest are all coming, they'll all be here soon,"
As seven more shadows were cast by the moon.
Whelan and Bent, Pegg, Taylor and Byrne,
Jones , and Colman, they came out in turn.
He greeted each one, just by calling their name
then proudly announced "do you fancy a game"
They took to the pitch, and the still night was broken
By leather on leather, not one word was spoken
They played once again, like they did long before
And imagined the sound of the Old Trafford roar
Edwards called out "come on lets pretend"
That we've just scored a goal at the old Stretford End"
As they ran to the edge of the pitch by the goal
There in the stands sat a solitary soul.
His eyes were all puffy, his cheeks wet with tears
As his mind wandered back to those wonderful years
"come down and join us" they cried all as one
"yes come down and join them" said Matt "go on son"
The lonely man stood and with much pain he said
"I'm afraid I can't play" as you are all dead.
You are all ghosts, and I am alive
That was the price that I paid to survive"
My role was to go on and inspire the team
And finally realise Sir Matt Busbys dream
To tell of your greatness, and as I get older
I burden the weight of your life on my shoulders."
The ghost of Sir Matt then raised up his head
Giving out a loud groan, he finally said
"Bobby, You survived, that much is true
But we wouldn't be here if it wasnt for you
For you are the one who has kept us alive
That was the reason you had to survive
If you were with us, all we have would be gone
And the game that we play could no longer go on
If you can't understand why it happened this way
Then come here and watch when United play
They sing about us, they remember us all
We live and we breathe with each kick of the ball
The legends that live here, Robson and Best
Cantona, Law, Giggs, Scholes and the rest
They are us, we are them, we are all here as one
And that is the reason United goes on
So come down and join us, we're begging you do
You are still one of us, and we're still one of you"
And then Bobbys face rose and he gave them a smile
And he said "I would love to come play for a while"
They played and they played, as they did in the past
Only not quite as skilful, and not quite as fast
And when it was over, and when it was done
They'd defeated Benfica by four goals to one.
Then Sir Matt said "lads, its been fun you know
But It's now Christmas day, and we really must go"
They walked to the front of the stadium and turned
And Sir Bobby said "there is something I've learned"
"You did not die, on that February night
You're still here with us, as you're with me tonight
And you'll live on forever as long as we play
As the ghosts disappeared down Sir Matt Busby way...................
Kindly used with the permission of Mr Ian Gibson. |
