How do you know who the hell you are?
Wake up each day under a different star?
Dressed to the nines, meet yourself going home
like a clone, smartly dressed in your pressed uniform.
Uniforms.
White battle dress on green pitch, proud eleven
Beneath the swelling box so neat,
the teeming millions of the future fly,
the spinning cricket ball to cheat.
They're all uniform.
Uniforms.
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