The Biscuit and Pollard

A sensation of power,
The joy of the pain.
Even through my glower,
Or the sting of the rain.

Time's running out,
And the end draws near.
Some people clear out,
Others watch in fear.

The people beside me,
They cuss and they curse.
When they see my glee,
Their luck it turns worse.

We know that we must,
And we hear the pounding
Of hoofbeats behind us,
Electricity we're grounding.

His nose hits the wire,
We're way out in front.
The field's a quagmire,
If I may be quite blunt.