The 30 greatest Dimitar Berbatovs of all time
#15 - Dimitar Berbatov
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
#14 - Dimitar Berbatov
Dimitar Berbatov has a reoccurring dream. He stands with a guitar, in a prison ready to play. He's dressed all in black.
Dimitar Berbatov's prison is his own mind. The sole inmate is Dimitar Berbatov. The pressure of expectation causes the fear of failure. The fear of failure adds to the pressure of expectation. Dimitar Berbatov can't even play guitar, even if it looks like he should be able to.
"Fuck me," think Dimitar Berbatov in his dream. "My subconscious is like a sodding M.C. Escher painting."
He launches in to 'The Wreck Of The Old number 7', his ode to Michael Owen.
#13 - Dimitar Berbatov
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed Jeb's rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bead on him to practice my aim
My brother's rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider did too
I missed my shot, I missed my shot
#15 - Dimitar Berbatov
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
#14 - Dimitar Berbatov
Dimitar Berbatov has a reoccurring dream. He stands with a guitar, in a prison ready to play. He's dressed all in black.
Dimitar Berbatov's prison is his own mind. The sole inmate is Dimitar Berbatov. The pressure of expectation causes the fear of failure. The fear of failure adds to the pressure of expectation. Dimitar Berbatov can't even play guitar, even if it looks like he should be able to.
"Fuck me," think Dimitar Berbatov in his dream. "My subconscious is like a sodding M.C. Escher painting."
He launches in to 'The Wreck Of The Old number 7', his ode to Michael Owen.
#13 - Dimitar Berbatov
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed Jeb's rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bead on him to practice my aim
My brother's rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider did too
I missed my shot, I missed my shot
Comment