Saw your picture in the paper today and I couldn't believe my eyes
Dead before your time, but so long before your prime
Looking nothing like the memory from when I was a kid
Golden hair flowing down, on your knees grooming the pitcher's mound
And it's always 1976
The camera lies, and the mirror plays tricks
So many things that the years won't fix
Always 1976
Set against a fading Motor City and Richard Nixon's shame
A rock star had arrived
Fidrych comes alive
And I know it's hardly fair to say you won't grow old
But forgive me if I try to keep that faded image in my eyes
What does it say for the rest of us when our heroes die and leave us alone?
What does it say for the rest of us when we wake up and find this bird has flown?