Текст пісні
When the day is done and the ball has spun
In the umpire's pocket away
And all that remains in the groundsman's pants
For the rest of time and a day
There'll be one mad dog and his master
Portioned for four with the spare
On a dusty pitch with two palm seats
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 head
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the end
Sting in the end
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 eight
This will lie as recollection
The hallowed strip in the haze
Where the fabled men and the noonday sun
Are much more than yarns of their days
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 head
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the end
Sting in the end
This will lie as recollection
The hallowed strip in the haze
Where the fabled men and the noonday sun
Are much more than yarns of their days
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 head
And it could be me and it could be thee
And it could be the sting in the end
Sting in the end