Next summer
by Steven Clotzman

It’s enough to make you cry or even want to die with good reason
It’s not the seven-year itch; it’s just the first pitch of the season
Already things are going from bad to worse
They’re bringing in that closer who drives a hearse
You say there’s a chance that you could die of thirst by next summer

They can talk about the game but it always seems the same to me
We start out nice and slow with only one way to go, it just makes me crazy
You say you want us to be back in a place where we belong
I know, every year we’re singing the same damn song
It’s weird how this beer makes me feel so strong about next summer

When you look in mirror
You see only one fear
Well, some things we never get used to,
No matter how many years

There’s a lawn to mow, a flowerbed to hoe, and I’m tired
I know the table’s set but I got bet on that lefty, he’s on fire
You say I promised you a trip across the ocean blue
Well, how about I get some tickets for Sunday afternoon?
There so many things we could do next summer.

When the gods are on the hunt, man they don’t bunt, they swing away
My head’s in such an awful mess, I must confess another loss today
The man down at the bar had a heart attack
He would have liked to slip away but they brought back
Now he says he can’t wait to hear the crack of those bats next summer

You deserve better.
I don’t deny this fact
I’ve had enough myself
Shit, even my own mom could hit like that

I’m dreaming of a place where every single face is yours
We’re sitting in the stands with all the other fans and you’re keeping score
The bases are loaded; the count’s three and two
It’s the bottom of the ninth and I’m in love with you
Who knows maybe they’ll come through next summer?


© 2004 & 2005 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved