You leave soon. You leave for a far away land. A romantic journey to a city where they know your name, but they don’t know it like we do.

Steven Gerrard is that name, and this is for you.

The end is almost here, you’ve come such a long, long way. 34 years on Merseyside. 25 years in Liverpool red. Born just 15 minutes from Anfield. Your cathedral, your canvas, your home. The images etched across this pitch are timeless. The yellow tint of the flood lights engage, a utopian song echoes inside these walls as forty four thousand Scouse patrons sway to and fro. To them you are not a footballer, you are not a central midfielder, you are not a captain. You are Liverpool Football Club. You embody the fervour of Anfield road.

It is on this stage where you play your song. A song with no lyrics, but it’s riddled with lyricism. The rhythm is in your feet, but it’s your soul that makes the beat. A spellbinding dance of mind and body. Interwoven with the oohs and ahhs of those who are fortunate enough to lay witness. The routine, while mesmerizing, is done with an abrasiveness that only those from the North West of England could understand. As the famous sign says, they are not English, they are Scouse.