I must down to the CLink again, to Occidental and the March
And all I ask is for concrete canyons and a capo to steer us by,
And the first kick and the entry song and the whole stands shaking,
And a grey mist on our faces, and a grey sky above.
I must down to the CLink again, for the call and repeat of tens of thousands
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the dark clouds above,
And the flung flags and flames flying, with the nation's eyes looking.
I must down to the CLink again, to the Sounders way of life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the shots like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing Obafemi
And a Neagle, a Dempsey, an air Marshall when the Shield's won over.
Going to CenturyLink to day is about self-definition. It is about proclaiming that not the sea, not the sky, not the very galaxy cause us fear. We head down to Royal Brougham looking upon fortune, staring at the Shield. The only thing in the way is ourselves.
Those eleven others are but waves and we are no cowards. We are Sounders - men and women of the sea. If storms mean nothing, what is an Irishman? If rogue waves billow and we Sounder on, what is a retiree? With a sunshine that is liquid and cold that does not dampen spirit, should Bakersfield cause fear?
We are not cowards.
I must down to the CLink again, where we stand as favorites
I must down to the CLink again, where we sing for our Rave clad men
I must down to the CLink again, where we boom-boom-clap
I must down to the CLink again, for the Shield will be ours