Paris 1975

In Paris’ glare, the white shirts shone, Eleven hearts, one dream alone. Leeds marched proud, with grit and grace, But fate would twist that fateful place. Lorimer struck — the crowd’s wild roar, Yet silence followed, hearts were sore. A flag was raised, a phantom crime, Stolen glory, frozen time. Referee’s whim, the cruelest blow, Justice lost beneath the show. Bayern smiled, the cup was theirs, But Leeds had fought through foul affairs. No silver gleamed for Yorkshire’s side, Yet history knows how they were tried. From Bremner’s fire to Clarke’s bold run, They played as though the gods had won. Robbed that night, yet never shamed, Their spirit fierce, their courage named. For every fan, that wound stays wide— Leeds United, wronged with pride.