Bastard son of the sport

There’s silence enough for you to spare a thought
To think about why you didn’t give it all you got
That and this and why some stuff happens
Why you stop playing the game
Why you stop living the game
Why you stop

Now the kits are packed
And only a stray bat lies on the side
And it belongs to a guy you never played
Who flew all the way, but you never played
Once upon a time, it was about signs
And not even you knew what would be next
That was the instinct to win
That was the instinct to win
It just crept up on you
And you got the credit
You was gifted
Like some son of the sport
Like some son of the sport

But you never knew how it came
Came to you in a flash
You were honest to the Gods
You were honest to the Gods
Your ads were funny
Your hair was cool
You were on a motorcycle
And you went back in school

But it all changes fast
Like Cat Stevens to Yusuf Islam
People find a new belief
You are no longer the chosen one
You are no longer the chosen one
Your ads are not that funny
You sell too much airtime
You hair is short
You’re on a motorcycle
But you’ve taken us for a ride
How did it go away
Go away in a flash
You're not that gifted anymore
You’re like some bastard son of the sport
You’re like some bastard son of the sport