I feel like John Mc Enroe
When he put the strings in glow
John Mc Enroe!
My name is John Mc Enroe
Do you know my poetry?
It will be written with blood
With the blood of the bad referies
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

INVIA LE CORREZIONI