Writer, vocals, guitar, bass, keyboard -- Tony Blose
Backing vocals, guitar, production -- Alex Blose
Lyrics:
Spearfish Canyon, elk and deer.
Black Hills star dials, midnight clear.
Tonight, witch doctor magic mushrooms fueling minds aglow.
At dawn, two hundred pony-owning Sioux chase buffalo.
South Dakota, closed gold mines
Camouflage the wintertime.
Deep inside the cloisters, hooded bands of holy men
Are busy lighting candles for the Matins they attend.
Yankee lawyers riding on trains, heading north for stations unnamed.
Drinking off the stress of their days, fading into alcohol haze.
Black world agent lurks below. Special access – need to know.
In each hand, each man holds plans – some demigod’s pipedream.
Amidst sea sounds they all go down in deep black submarines.
Black world agent rides no more. Trades his tickets, locks the door.
Timeless limbo; sleeps and wakes. To him it’s all the same.
Half baked schemes, uranium dreams, electrify his brain.
Yankee lawyers riding on trains, heads ablaze with reds and cocaine.
Living lives in deep disrepair; teeter on the edge of despair.
Alabama southland deep. Academic rents all cheap.
He’s seen it all; he took the fall in Yankee-land before.
He broke the chain, he quit the game – You can’t touch him anymore.
Visions fill his sleeping head. Apparition nears the bed.
Rosary beads in one hand; scales of justice in the other.
Is this some blindfold Libra, or perhaps the Blessed Mother?
“So” she says, “You’ve left it behind and thought you put it out of your mind.
But Yankee boy, there’s nowhere to run.
The cards were dealt – you’ll play out each one.
Don’t you know the pattern was set before they even shuffled the deck?
And if you need a further review, I’m just the Yankee Lawyer for you.
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