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Down the street half a block away In a familliar place, Regular people agree with each other in smoke signals Down the street half a block away in a familliar place Where regular people all agree with each other Interprets the law as ageing With its eyesight failing, the law is ageing Oh, sitting across, telling stories, So sit across the table, our eyes unclose like books weve read twice So cry ghost baby So on the shelves lined with spines Dust collects from scattered ash From an urn unturned Spilling over someone regular. And all the such regulars Cry ghost or boast of a friend of a friend Who saw a strange sight, Or heard a strange sound. Now whisper tall tales of murder Down the street, half a block away In a familliar place, with regular people Agree with each other in smoke signals Brought together to burn the that brings them together Intrepret the law as ageing with its eyesight failing x2 Somebody's little girl Dreams of the things she's read Somebody, somebody's little girl Dreams of the things she's read And the monsters in her bed who hacked her into blood-meat. Somebody's little girl Dreams of the things she read While the monsters in her bed who hacked her into blood-meat. |
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