The standing: no joy is found.
Not a soul demanding any abound.
Minnesotans handing anything hopeful to dull sound.
Misery expanding, avarice gripping us bound.
So many stranding, sold for a pound,
Seeking a landing, thrown to the ground now.
Fury is banding, revulsion is wound out now.
This night, suddenly, sullenly, dulling these dim lights, Excite? Capital crap, it’ll snap it all in blights. Still this is Target Field, Will thirty years be altered? Fill out the card you wield, Bill ownership that’s
paltered. ‘Til longing hearts are healed, Nil budges those who’ve faltered, It’s the game way, same day.
Lose, always lose:
Those “next year” cries ever proven as lies.
Lose, always lose:
As we’ve yearned, unfailingly burned.
Who’s cranked the screws
And left us here
Refuse, all tramped by shoes,
Suffer arrogant owner blunder, plunder dragging us under.
Ooze, smarm and schmooze,
Filled your silken lining, shut out the whining.
Boos won’t enthuse,
Won’t ascend, won’t end…
Branding us as frowned,
No reprimanding, naught astound.
No understanding, misery is to resound.
Just grinders sanding optimist pop ‘til it’s ground.
All backhanding, nothing bound,
Nothing landing, all compound now.
Are we banding?
Are we landing?
Are we stranding?
Lose, always…
Boos, all days, always… we lose.
