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The Dead Science
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Black Lane
You may not have a car at all
Gangster white walls
So you'll walk all the way home
Though your body yearns to lay down anywhere
Those eyes you meet, offending windowpanes
Will stay consigned to the night
You'll wake up, in your bed again
A dull and soaring white
The eight horses wearing trappings as black as the night
Dressed in black were the drivers
In black bows their whips were tied
A carriage with eight horses will carry you away
You'll wake up, in your bed again
A dull and soaring gray
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