[Verse 1: Power-metal male lead, heroic over the double-kick] Lowfield on the left bank, Harrow on the right And the Teague between us rollin' slow and brown and wide On the flats there is a ballfield, and we never could agree If the infield belongs to Harrow or the infield belongs to me Forty years of lawyers, forty summers of a brawl Every big game on the Fourth endin' in a free-for-all Two sets of bases on it and a fence we cut each May And a trophy that gets stolen back and forth across the way [Pre-Chorus: power-metal male lead, the harmonized guitars climbing] Then the rain came down for eight days on the hills above the town And the river rose a yard by noon, and it was comin' down [Chorus: power-metal male lead, the full band thundering] Fill it with the infield, pass it down the line Forty years we fought about if this ground was yours or mine Every bag of it is home plate, every bag of it is ours Sandbag the river, and we'll hold it through the hours [Verse 2: power-metal male lead, the rhythm guitars chugging] Two o'clock in the mornin', and the sirens on both shores And the water's at the church steps, and it's in the hardware store And I walk out on the flats with a shovel and a light And there's Harrow on the infield, every man of 'em, tonight Big Ed Tolliver from Harrow, he's the one who broke my nose And he hands me down a sack, and he says, "Hold it, here it goes" Lowfield men and Harrow men are standin' in one row In the mud of second base, and we're shovelin' it slow [Pre-Chorus: power-metal male lead, the harmonized guitars climbing] And the rain comes down sideways on the hills above the town And the river's at our ankles, and it's comin' down [Chorus: power-metal male lead, the full band thundering] Fill it with the infield, pass it down the line Forty years we fought about if this ground was yours or mine Every bag of it is home plate, every bag of it is ours Sandbag the river, and we'll hold it through the hours [Instrumental: harmonized lead guitars over the double-kick, eight bars] [Verse 3: power-metal male lead, dawn, the gallop lock as the last bags go up] Five a.m., the pitcher's mound is on the bank in burlap sacks And the base paths and the batter's box are piled up at our backs Six a.m. and there's no field left, there's a crater and a fence And a wall of brown along the bank that finally makes sense And the river hits the wall, and it shoves, and it gives way And it rolls on past both towns into the gray of the day Ed Tolliver's grinnin' at me with his face all black with mud And he says, "So who won, Lowfield?" and I say, "Not the flood" [Chorus: power-metal male lead, the full band thundering] Fill it with the infield, pass it down the line Forty years we fought about if this ground was yours or mine Every bag of it is home plate, every bag of it is ours Sandbag the river, and we'll hold it through the hours [End]
