They actually sing that champions song
before every game.
Imagine, Donny! Imagine if they’d
written a song just for you.
All the birds would be trained from birth
to harmonize with your song.
The most beautiful people would play
in the prison band, your song. Always.
Maybe someone would cross-stitch it
onto a square for a quilt – the melody
painted out in gold thread.
What a sight that would be.
Your anthem of hubris
in stereophonic sound.