When A Book Is Alive, Really Alive,

In The Struggle Of Good Against Evil, It's Always The People Who Get Killed.

And One Fine Day The Goddess Of The Wind Kisses The Foot Of Man, That Mistreated, Scorned Foot, And From That Kiss The Soccer Idol Is Born. He Is Born In A Straw Crib In A Tin-roofed Shack And He Enters The World Clinging To A Ball.

I Go About The World, Hand Outstretched, And In The Stadiums I Plead: 'a Pretty Move, For The Love Of God.' And When Good Soccer Happens, I Give Thanks For The Miracle And I Don't Give A Damn Which Team Or Country Performs It.

In His Life, A Man Can Change Wives, Political Parties Or Religions But He Cannot Change His Favourite Soccer Team.

So Many Stories, And To Choose Which Ones To Tell And How To Tell Them. The Words, They Will Tap Me On The Shoulder And They Will Speak To Me: Tell Me! Tell Me! The Stories Choose Me.