The Black Rider

When you hear sweet syncopation
And the music softly moans
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around in your bones

When it gets too hot for comfot
And you can't get an ice cream cone
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones

Just like those bamboo babies
Down in the South Sea tropic zone
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones

(greg cohen)
[instrumental]

[instrumental]

No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone

No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all

November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November's cold chain

Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November

With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare

Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out
November

[instrumental]

Ladies and gentlemen
Harry's Harbour Bizarre is proud to present
Under the Big Top tonight
Human Oddities

That's right
You'll see the Three Headed Baby
You'll see Hitler's brain
See Lea Graff the German midget who sat in J.F. Morgan's lap

You'll see Priscilla Bajano
The monkey woman
Jo Jo the dog face boy
I'm Milton Malone, the human skeleton

See Grace McDaniel's
The mule faced woman
And she's the homeliest woman in the world

Under the Big Top tonight
Never before seen
And if you have a heart condition, please be warned

Don't forget to visit our snack bar at Charleston Grotto
Al lsales are final
Void where prohibited by law

You'll see Sealo the seal boy who has flippers for arms
You'll see Johnny Eck, the man born without a body
He walks on his hands
He has his own orchestra and is an excellent pianist

See Gerd Bessler, the human pincusion
And don't forget, it's ladies' night at Harvy's Harbour Bizarre
You'll see Ko Ko the bird girl
Mortando, the human fountain

Step a little
A little closer ladies and gentlemen and don't be shy
Dig deep in your pockets

You'll see Radion, the human torso
Deep from the jungles of Africa
Ladies and gentlemen, Harry's Harbour Bizarre
Ladies and gentlemen

[instrumental]

Come on a long with the Black Rider
We'll have a gay old time
Lay down in the web of the black spider
I'll drink your blood like wine

So come on in
It ain't no sin
Take off your skin
And dance around your bones

So come along with the Black Rider
We'll have a gay old time

Anchors away with the Black Rider
I'll drink your blood like wine
I'll drop you off in Harlem with the Black Rider
Out where the bullets shine

And when you're done
You cock your gun
The blood will run
Like ribbons in your hair

So come along wit hthe Black Rider
We'll have a gay old time

Come on along with the Black Rider
I've got just the thing for thee
Come on along with the Black Rider
I want your company

I'll have the veal
A lovely meal
That's how I feel
May I use your skull for a bowl

Come on along with the Black Rider
We'll have a gay old time

Now, George was a good straight boy to begin with, but there was bad blood
In him; someway he got into the magic bullets and that leads straight to
Devil's work, just like marijuana leads to heroin; you think yo ucan take
Them bullets or leave 'em, do you?
Just save a few for your bad days

Well, now, we all have those bad days when you can't shoot for shit.

The more of them magics you use, the more bad days you have without them
So it comes down finally to all your days being bad without the bullets
It's magics or nothing
Time to stop chippying around and kidding yourself,
Kid, you're hooked, heavy as lead

And that's where old George found himself
Out there at the crossroads
Molding the Devil's bullets
Now a man figures it's his bullets, so it will
Hit what he wants to hit
But it don't always work that way

You see, some bullets is special for a single aim
A certain stag, or a certain person
And no matter where you are, that's where the bullet will end up
And in the moment of aiming, the gun turns into a dowser's wand
And point where the bullet wants to go

(George Schmid was moving in a series of convulsive spasms, like someone
with an epileptic fit, with his face distorted and his eyes wild like a
lassoed horse bracing his legs. But something kept pulling him on. And now
he is picking up the skulls and making the circle.)

I guess old George didn't rightly know what he's getting himself into
The fit was on him and it carried him right to the crossroads

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll be the pennies
On your eyes
For you baby

I want to take you
Out to the fair
Here's a red rose
Ribbon for your hair

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll shoot the moon
For you

A vulture circles
Over your head
For you baby
I'll be the flowers
After you're dead
For you baby

I want to build
A nest in your hair
I want to kiss you
And never be there

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll shoot the moon
For you