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