When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease

When the day is done and the ball
Has spun in the umpires pocket away
And all remains in the groundsman's pains for
The rest of time and a day
There'll be one mad dog and his master
Pushing for four with the spin
On a dusty pitch with two pounds six
Of willow wood in the sun

When an old cricketer leaves the crease
You never know whether he's gone
If sometimes you're catching a
Fleeting glimpse of
A twelfth man at silly Mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John
With a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the ale
Sting in the ale

When an old cricketer leaves the crease
Well you never know whether he's gone
If sometimes you're catching a
Fleeting glimpse of
A twelfth man at silly Mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John
With a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the ale

Sting in the ale when the moment comes and
The gathering stands
And the clock turns back to reflect
On the years of grace
As those footsteps trace
For the last time out of the act
Well this way of life's recollection
The hallowed strip in the haze
The fabled men and the noonday sun are much
More than just yarns of their days

When an old cricketer leaves the crease
Well you never know whether he's gone
If sometimes you're catching a
Fleeting glimpse of
A twelfth man at silly Mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John
With a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the ale
The sting in the ale

When an old cricketer leaves the crease
Well you never know whether he's gone
If sometimes you're catching a
Fleeting glimpse of
A twelfth man at silly Mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John
With a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee