Forced To Smell Mother's Feet

I miss you George.

I I miss you like if you miss conosciuto.Mi like I shared with you one of your colossal sbornie.Non know what I'd give to me a pint with te.L 'emotion calcio.Il made 68 on a lawn verde.Chissa' as you tell me that fake the goalie to the ground as if shot one dove imaginative .... I do not know how many players to get over that game .... magic cup in Lisbon ... Maybe you do not even want to talk George.Io insist kidnapped by those images snatched here and there ... who knows where those goals impossible quell'andatura .... never again 'view nessuno.Ricordo still the day after your death, and the minute's silence at Old Trafford, stadio.Ho your bed on the face of people who you were and that emotions did you dato.Mi endeared the ball even more '. I do still 5 years after your death to love a football there' more '. Or not?