The young lads played the game
The Busby Babes was
their name
Though they played
like magic
They embraced tragedy
in Munich
Their plane crashing
in the snow
The wreckage burning
all aglow
Eigth of their magnificent number
Would not see another
summer
The Busby Babes were sublime
The best by far in
their time
And when eight of
their number
Went to their eternal
slumber
They went straight to
heaven
To join St Peters
first XI
Morgans and Blanchflower
Never played again
Some played to soon
Some could never play
the same
Some were cast aside
Some fullfilled there
destiny
But none were
unscathed
After the tradgedy
Those who remained
Of the team Busby
built
All survived the
horror
But lived with the
guilt
