Dalton Deschain & the Traveling Show - 555

The tiny church sits on the flat horizon
The gray ocean sky looking down
As if on a hangman's gallows
The steeple sorta flipping the bird
To the Atlantic shallows
And I drove all the way up 95
A suitcase full of candles and arcane stone glyphs
Just hoping to find this unlocked door
Where I could draw a pentagram
In sidewalk chalk on the plywood floor
But nobody, nobody, nobody
Shows up to my party when summoned
So I pack up my shit and I curse at the dead
And I wipe off the tears and the symbol on my forehead
And drive
Until the contacts fall out of my eyes
No luck with red lights or the blood sacrifice
Seems I'm always one short and come up with three fives
So I drive
Until the contacts fall out of my eyes
Looking for answers from the other side
'Til I find a small wooded clearing that will tell me why I'm still alive
There's a strange old stonework Dunkin Donuts
Just off the highway leading towards
Long Island, Oyster Bay
And I order a Girl Scout cookie latte
While the employees all stare at the blood on my face
And I head back to the rich couple tied up in their foyer
And overall I'm a good person, so I bought them both
A couple of fresh boston creams
And I take off the gags and I smile
And I put a finger over my lips so they know not to scream
But nobody, nobody, nobody
Can shut up all the thoughts in my head
And my heart's just not in it, so I cut off the ropes
And I leave with my head low, but I gather my last hopes
And drive
Until the contacts fall out of my eyes
No luck with red lights or the cops or last rites
Seems I'm always one short and come up 555
So I drive
Until the contacts fall out of my eyes
Looking for answers from the other side
'Til I find a tall hooded figure who will tell me why I'm still alive

Written by:
Nicholas Strong

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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