Roaming through this dark alley, Dry and empty, with an echo ringing, Go, go, it is the only way. I’ve walked this path, I’ve been here before, I’ve seen this story, I know this fate. Through the silence, I hear the whisper, Repeating, again and again, It must be grief, Surely, it is denial. No, I assure you, it is not, Of course, a little bit of sadness, To give so much, but yet, Getting so little love in return, Of course, a little pain, Doing so much, for so little thanks. They call me crazy, They see no other way, But I tell you this, On the darkest night, When the Bernabeu light shines brightest, You’ll see me there, all in white, On the grandest stage, Then shall this story be written on a new page. But for now, While they say it is over, All I can think of is, I’ve seen this story, I know this fate, I can’t shake this feeling of De Javu, This tale Goes nowhere.

He has not earned the right to have his name properly spelled. He has done nothing for Madrid. Mastantononono out