Start all the clocks, reconnect the telephone,
Encourage the dog to bark with a juicy bone,
Plonk the pianos and beat a snare drum
Bring out the bandwagon, let the admirers come.
Let aeroplanes circle roaring overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is not Dead!'
Put claret and blue bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear cross hammered gloves.
He is our North, our South, our East our West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought his drought would last forever: we were wrong.
The stars are wanted now; light up every one,
Unpack the moon and reassemble the sun,
Pour out the lager and worship where he stood;
For everything now must surely come to good!
OK it was only a penalty, and it was only in the old Third Division, but Freddie scored the FOURTH goal of his professional career! Move over Tony Cottee, the new fox in the box is back from the dead!