I’m way out here in left field,

I know Peter, Paul, and Mary

said that right was important,

but the Bible is full of crying

and there’s no room in baseball,

out here in left field is just me

being me, I get high like the green

monster, monstrous like the green

monster, my ideas are out here

in left field, come with me hand

in glove, it changes you, left field,

ask Stan the Man, better yet ask

the Man of Steal, stand out here

with me long enough and even

the living room starts feeling like

the Polo Grounds, that’s pretty far

out, and everything is silent out here

in left field, the sky is always seasick,

waiting for the roar, leaving me wondering:

if I run straight back, will I ever reach the wall?