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It was many and many a month ago,
In pre-season he was key,
T'was a young footballer you may've known,
By the name of Kevin DB;
And this footballer lived with no other thought
Than to play and to play for Chelsea.
And I was a child watching him running wild,
In that for'ard midfield three,
And he played with a grace that was more than just grace—
He played so! my Kevin DB—
With a grace that the revving motors of Wolfsburg
Coveted him from me.
And this was the reason that long ago,
He was lured away from Chelsea,
Rumours stole in as a cloud by night,
Unsettling Kevin DB;
So that his money-wise agents came
And bore him to Germany,
To shut him away in Saxony;
To deploy in a for'ard three.
The agents, not half so happy in riches,
Were envying him and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
he was taken away from Chelsea)
The rumours came out of the cloud by night,
Luring securing my wonderful Kevin DB.
But my love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than me—
Of many far wiser than me—
And neither the stories from Belgium thereof
Nor the terrible play with Chelsea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the wonderful Kevin DB;
For the ball's never played, without invoking shades
Of the wonderful Kevin DB;
The Blues aren't enough, I envision the touch
Of the wonderful Kevin DB;
And so when I day-dream, I seek internet streams
Of my idol-my idol—the winger supreme,
Of his new team in Saxony—
In pre-season he was key.
