Night Game - Paul Simon

There were two men down

And the score 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