I feel like John Mc Enroe, when he puts the string 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 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 Mc Enroe, do you know my poetry?
I feel like John Mc Enroe, when he puts the string in glow.