Brussels Lament

[Verse 1]
Saw him at the bar on Pico, nursing a Stella,
Talking 'bout Russia back in 2018, fella.
That 'golden generation' story's getting colder;
like the ice melting slow in the glass on his shoulder.
Heard his man say, "This is our year, I swear it," but the tone was hollow.
A legacy built on third place is a hard pill to swallow.
He's tracing cracks in the table, looking past the TV screen,
Remembering a red devil that used to be mean.

[Chorus]
It's a shame what you became, man, it's tragic.
We watch Egypt pray for that one-man magic.
See the Kiwis land with their jet-lag baggage.
This ain't your old crew, Brussels, this is just a bad habit.

[Verse 2]
Then he's watching the Pharaoh, the king with no crown,
one man against eleven as the service breaks down.
They give the ball to Mo Salah, hope he makes a miracle,
but the system's too rigid, the tactics are clinical.
Just a long ball to nowhere, a shrug at the sky,
another one-nil heartbreak you can see in his eye.
He's a god back in Cairo, a savior, a prophet,
but you can't win the whole Cup with one man in the pocket.

[Bridge]
And who's that? The All Whites, it's been sixteen years?
Bless their hearts, they showed up, conquering their fears.
Just to get on a plane for a lesson in pain,
welcome to the group of death, enjoy the rain.

[Outro]
He looks up, sees our colours on the screen, that green-white-and-red gleam.
It's over.