How badly do you want to be a footballer?

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain!  My Captain!  The season’s far from done.

The fans think Arsene is a quack; no new signings have we won.

Euro is near, the fans do fear, while for the worst preparing

For silverware seems far away, and you seem a tad uncaring.


But O Cesc!  Cesc!  Cesc!

O the shade of Arsenal Red

Where on the floor lies kit number 4

Abandoned, cold, and dead.


O Captain!  My Captain!  Why did you head to Spain?

For those annoying friends of yours who’re really quite a pain?

Though pretty passes ignite the masses and make the Nou Camp roar

The tricks and cheats of Barca’s club can hardly be ignored.


Here Cesc!  Dear captain!

The Gunners that you led;

They are a dream that on the pitch

You left now that you’ve fled.


My Cesc he does not answer, his lips are closed and still.

While Arsenal falters in the prem, lacking depth and strength of will.

The season starts again anew, its voyage setting sail,

With injuries, and discontent, and Nasri whining without fail.


Exult, O Barca, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Watch the club my captain left,

When away to Spain he fled.


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