Down the street half a block away
In a familiar place,
Regular people agree with each other in smoke signals
Down the street half a block away in a familiar place
Where regular people all agree with each other
Interprets the law as aging
With its eyesight failing, the law is aging
Oh, sitting across, telling stories,
So sit across the table, our eyes unclose like books we've 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 familiar place, with regular people
Agree with each other in smoke signals
Brought together to burn the that brings them together
Interpret the law as aging 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.
