the baseball diamond is cold this time of year
might let you run the bases
if you toss the guards a couple beers

the snow sure is pretty but you’ll never hear the score
it don’t matter anymore
lost in Boston

he grew up Catholic but it didn’t take
our brown eyed girl she was raised not to question her faith
under a purple street lamp they confess their sins
the morning comes anyway
lost in Boston

all the lights on Causeway Street
shine in green for our stars
all the dreams we dare to dream
stay right here in these bars
lost in Boston

sometimes I dream I’m in New York City in the rain
but it still feels the same

© 2012 Michaels