As I was walking the dark street of London
in a fog I wandered alone
I heard a rattle that came up behind me
and froze my flesh to the bone
there came a wagon with two black horses
and one lonely drive atop
and "Bring out your dead" was all that he said
and rattled away in the dark
there was a black band on his sleeve
a sure symbol of grief
and "Bring out your dead" was all that he said
but there haven't been wagons in centuries
As I was standing my mouth hung open
wondering if I'd gone spare
he stopped the wagon a few yards afore me
and turned to look back with a stare
his eyes were empty as two deep canyons
and black as the pit of the night
and "Bring out your dead" was all that he said
and I found my feet and took flight
he had a black cap and a whip
I prayed that I wouldn't slip
I could hear the wheel it was right on my heel
but I never looked back at it
Now if you go out walking on the streets of London
after the lights are all out
if you hear a rattle then just start a-runnin'
unless you have dead to bring out
there was a black band on his sleeve
a sure symbol of grief
and "Bring out your dead" was all that he said
but there haven't been wagons in centuries
Introspective, homespun folk tunes from John Donne that feel informed by the sugary bleakness of '80s and '90s indie pop. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 1, 2023