You wish it away, but it still seems like it's forever.
Between you and me, I could honestly say
we should hope for lousy weather.
Pitch low and away, dust him with pitch inside
and it won't be long before he's hit home run
and once again we will want to hide.

And I guess that's why these ballgames we blew.
Gloves on our hands don't make our fielding true.
Crying like children, living like suckers
roll each new blunder like old Bill Buckner
and I guess that's why these ballgames we blew.

Just stare into space, picture your face on a card.
Living each day with cries of Red Sox Nation
and never forget that it's so hard.

Wait for victory, cry in the night if it helps.
But more than ever I want the Series, more than I want life itself.

And I guess that's why these ballgames we blew.
Gloves on our hands don't make our fielding true.
Crying like children, living like suckers
roll each new blunder like old Bill Buckner
and I guess that's why these ballgames we blew.
Crying like children, living like suckers
roll each new blunder like old Bill Buckner
and I guess that's why these ballgames we blew.
(repeat 'til fade)