Categorize me, package me for consumption

I will defy the numbers on your screen

My spirit will scream and break your machine

Learning every day, or trying to, without forgetting myself

I'm slowly learning, I have my own brand of magic

And well, if you don't like it, your loss

Progressive passes, expected batting average, completion percentage, triple doubles

Unforced errors, defensive runs saved, wins above replacement

Oh yeah that's called

WAR

WAR WAR WAR

Don't me wrong, I'm not yer Da',

I'm not mad at the modern game with all its math

But a hundred years back, we'd play for our towns

And now it's all a fucking cash bloodbath

And we can't even seem to have fun

I mean, do you remember having fun?

Yards after catch, duels won, didja see his numbers at the combine

Rotations per minute, xG/90, kilometers run, or miles if you're limey

Passes defensed, on base plus slugging, there's probably some good ones I'm missing about cricket

Maybe we should just get back to

WAR

WAR WAR WAR

WAR WAR WAR

I'm still starving for artistry, assholes and children and drug addicts, they're scratching out poetry

Keep getting biology instead of fantasy, I grew up on heartbreak and romance and

I guess they lied to me but

I mean come on

This efficiency. it's so boring

It's killing me

Oh no, is this end,

No it's not quite yet

We're still alive, with our hearts and our heads

Ready for a new season, or a new era

One where we win, one where we entertain

And if you crunch the numbers. determine our value well then

I hope I have a good

WAR

WAR WAR WAR

WAR WAR WAR