I feel like John McEnroe
When he puts the string in glow
John McEnroe
My name is John McEnroe
Do you know my poetry?
It will be written with blood
With the blood of the bad referees
My tennis bag smells like gun smoke
And there's no tennis stuff anymore
There's only strange books, big maps
And a picture of a girl with a strawberry face
My name is John McEnroe
Do you know my poetry?
I feel like John McEnroe
When he puts the string in glow

INVIA LE CORREZIONI