Left, back, right,
Stadium lights coming down over me.
Windy gusts, think I must be near dead.
Am I? I am. Am I? I am, I am just waiting to pass.
The chips are down, how can this town love its team?
Found and lost, lovers' cost I can't read.

And asking
Am I? I am. Am I? I am, I am just waiting...

Forget this joke, too cold to have spoke, and I'm annihilated
Win or lose, same old news hits its stride.
Am I? I am. Am I? I am, I am just waiting to pass.
They're out of tune, clouds hide the moon, who cares why.
Is there such thing as a sub-contrabass bassoon?

(Repeat verses as needed.)