Steven Gerrard: Destroyer of Worlds

In trademark running, pointing and shouting pose

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. 
For nothing now can ever come to any good.