In a little while from now
I guess I'll still feel quite sour.
I promised myself, won't freak myself
by looking at that nearby tower.
For on floor forty-one
an airplane come undone
in an effort to
know, we still not do
but the vehicle is shattered
left lying on the street.
Cops on beat and firefighters.
"My God, that's bad, it seems so sad."
Those two guys, such poor blighters.
So we get on the phone
and say, "It can't go on."
Postponed the game, naturally.

To think that only yesterday
the Playoffs were underway.
Looking forward to
how the Yanks would do
but not well enough they'd play.
So the Tigers sent them down
and reality came around.
They packed up their stuff.
They thought it was rough.
But things always can get worsened.
Seeing that plane smash.
High-rise crash, a nine-eleven?
No terrorist, that is the gist.
But two guys off to heaven.
But this new baseball pain
combined with New York rain
postponed the game, naturally.

It seems to me that there are more hearts
broken in the world
even in our game.
It's such a damn shame.
What do we do?
What can we do?

(instrumental break)

Postponed the game, naturally.

And looking back over the years
over a quarter-century's cheers
I remember how I cried when Thurman Munson died.
All of baseball had shed its tears.
And when I was three years old
Clemente, God rest his soul
followed Kenny Hubbs
of the Sixties Cubs
into sad wild blue yonder.
Leaving us this day
Tigers-A's way out in Oakland.
But Mets and Cards, it's just too hard.
This town, with rain, no, folks, can't.
A player has passed away.
We can't go out and play.
Postponed the game, naturally.

Postponed the game.
Naturally.