See black, see yellow with little notebooks drawn
See grey stripes bowling down the street
Silver streaks and T-shirts so precisely torn
Strange foreign chaps in white bed-sheets

See golden halo'd men of high renown
prance to the politicians beat
Well-tailored in unswerving elegance
with shoes by Gucci on their feet

How do you know who the hell you are?
Wake up each day under a different star
Dressed to the nines, meet yourself going home
like a clone, smartly dressed in your pressed uniform

White battle dress on green pitch, proud eleven
Beneath the swelling box so neat
the teeming millions of the future fly--
the spinning cricket ball to cheat
They're all uniform