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.