The Barrister
I haven't felt this way since Istanbul.
- Yachtsman
A million special memories - emotion, joy, tears,
Flags, banners, songs of old, which echo down the years,
And so now destiny calls us, all roads lead to London again,
We'll tread the path of legends inspired by an eternal flame,
The footsteps of our fathers - those who have gone before,
They will all be there at Wembley to walk with us once more.
- Dave Kirby
The impossible becomes, into existence, out of nothing it seems, possible.
We dare to dream, inexplicably. We dare to dream because we know that in that dreaming state, in that stance, legs shoulder width apart, eyes glued on an army of Red, our souls alive with promise and hope, we might be lifted, alighted, affirmed.
This was a day to dream. To step before the impossible and declare with one voice that some things are worth a little belief. A little unreasonable, not-so-fucking-fast belief. A little rip the pants off yo ass faith in the irrational. In the what if. In the why-the-fuck-not.
This was a day to dream.
This club elicits something powerful when we let it; something that assures us we can dream without folly; that we can dream in a promise of our collective reward, echoing the deep history of supporting a band of Scouse legends. This club demands those dreams, makes use of those dreams, transforms those dreams.
It makes those dreams something more, something unthinkable, something unshakeable.
Yes, motherfuckers, this day was a day to dream.
Up the bloody beautiful Reds.
We dare to dream, inexplicably. We dare to dream because we know that in that dreaming state, in that stance, legs shoulder width apart, eyes glued on an army of Red, our souls alive with promise and hope, we might be lifted, alighted, affirmed.
This was a day to dream. To step before the impossible and declare with one voice that some things are worth a little belief. A little unreasonable, not-so-fucking-fast belief. A little rip the pants off yo ass faith in the irrational. In the what if. In the why-the-fuck-not.
This was a day to dream.
This club elicits something powerful when we let it; something that assures us we can dream without folly; that we can dream in a promise of our collective reward, echoing the deep history of supporting a band of Scouse legends. This club demands those dreams, makes use of those dreams, transforms those dreams.
It makes those dreams something more, something unthinkable, something unshakeable.
Yes, motherfuckers, this day was a day to dream.
Up the bloody beautiful Reds.
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