Plan A

[Aleks:] Just like when we were seventeen We said we'd move to Malta, claim nationality [Aleks:] And now that we are twenty-three Days tethered to the running track Evenings chained to the dish rack I'm called up to the Maltese national team My vision is impeccable, my first touch is obscene A World Cup qualifier finds me fifty, forty, thirty yards From goal, a late sub on in an off the striker role [Aleks:] Was it wind? Did it take a bad deflection? [Aleks:] A decade spent nursing a fear that you might never make it? The crowd draws breathe at once it swerves to the top corner The Sunday tabloid press declares me the new king of Malta [Chorus] With my name on shirts, your face on the cash That every week just piles inside our bank account We'd rule the roost and we could start a family I think we'd make about a hundred million bucks I head down to the mint and tell them: [Aleks:] "Pound every coin deep into the ground [Aleks:] Burn every note in circulation [Aleks:] There's a new face on the currency of our nation" I hand them a photograph of you The most beautiful thing they'd ever seen The press starts a rolling, your image on Euros The workforce retires to the bathroom [Chorus]