The night's cold, the air's crisp and brisk
Lips need chap stick, In a bar...
Mr. Maguire admires stitched attire minutes before the first pitch
Swigs his last bits, grabs that ticket
Making his way to Fenway... he says "wait a minute"
In an instant... suddenly switched tunes
And zoomed in on a girl who lit up the room
Her perfume was elegant, this was no exaggeration
Patiently waiting to start making conversation
No hesitation... Sean decides to give it a whirl
Locking eyes, he said, "sorry guys, "I gotta see about a girl"
That's something in my life... I've yet to apply
Because instead of saying hi... I'd rather be the guy
That hides in the end and pretends he didn't exist
Looking back on life despite only a glimpse
Of what I captured... I've become a master of puppets
Writing songs about exes like vigilante justice
So when it's game 6, and you ask to stay
Why am I making moves when I chose to walk away?
Tag me out... we're playing for contention
This isn't love... we're swinging for the fences
Call me out... we're playing imperfections
This isn't love... we're swinging for the fences
Tag me out (call me out) here's the pitch
Call me out (tag me out) swing and a miss
Tag me out (call me out) Carlton Fisk hits
A long fly ball and that's all for of Game 6