Feet of Concrete
Our hero takes strike three
Followed by a collective
groan
A chorus of boos soon follows
The mob hates to be
disappointed
They have invested way too
much
In their devalued fallen idol
Love is such a delicate
flower
Admiration a wisp in the wind
Today’s god, tomorrow’s demon
We build them up to knock
them down
All to make us momentarily forget
About the strike outs in our
own box score
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