There were two men down

And the score was tied


In the bottom of the eighth


When the pitcher died




And they laid his spikes


On the pitcher's mound

And his uniform was torn


And his number was left on the ground




Then the night turned cold


Colder than the moon


The stars were white as bones

The stadium was old


Older than the screams


Older than the teams




There were three men down


And the season lost

And the tarpaulin was rolled


Upon the winter frost