In a tank at Sea Life, in Oberhausen's heart,
Lived Paul, the Octopus, a creature smart.
With eyes that sparkled like the stars above,
He captured the world's gaze, a symbol of love.
Oh, Paul, the mystic of the sea,
Predicting games with glee.
Not by magic, nor by fate,
But by chance, they'd articulate.
From UEFA '08 to the World Cup's cheer,
His selections were awaited far and near.
"Is it skill, or is it just pure chance?"
The world pondered with each glance.
No divination in the deep blue, Ruanel spoke,
All conjectures, all guesses, just vanished in smoke.
But Paul's tale is more than luck or a game,
It's a story of connection, of love, not of fame.
Oh, Paul, the mystic of the sea,
In your tank, you were free.
Not foretelling, not divine,
But in each choice, a love sign.
Though skeptics might say it's all arranged,
The joy he brought, cannot be exchanged.
In the dance of his tentacles, a silent chat,
Of unity, and joy, much more than this or that.
Spirits of error, games of fate,
In the end, it's love that we narrate.
Paul, our octopus, in the sea's embrace,
Taught us wonder, in his silent grace.
Oh, Paul, the octopus, you swam so free,
In our hearts, you'll always be.
A reminder of the joy and mystery,
In the ocean's deep, vast library.
So here's to Paul, in his underwater world,
A flag of unity, forever unfurled.
In every guess, a bond, a light,
Paul, the octopus, our guiding night.