(Down the street half a block and

Agree with each other)

The law is aging (oh yes it is)

Sitting across, telling stories

Eyes unclosed like books we've read twice (So sit across the table, feed me some lies)

So on the shelves lined with spines

The dust collects as scattered ash

From an urn unturned

Spilling over someone regular

And other such regulars

Cry ghost and boast

Of the friend of a friend

Who saw a strange sight

Or heard a strange sound

Now whispers tall tales of murder

Brought together to burn, brought together to burn

Somebody's somebody's little girl