In the dark of the night when the living are still,
And your rest is disturbed by a sudden chill,
For you've heard in the distance a moan of distress,
Then you'll know it's the hour of the Bony Express.
You hold in your breath as you strain for the sound
Of the clackety wheels and the shake of the ground;
Then you hear it again like an icy caress:
It's the whistling wail of the Bony Express.
By the glimmering light see each rider within,
With his empty sockets and fleshless grin;
To what dark destination is anyone's guess
They go reeling along on the Bony Express.
In the dark of the night when the shadows are deep,
And you pray for the Sandman to send you sleep,
You might also pray for the Lord to bless
All the restless sinners who never confess
As they rattle and roll to their final address
At the End of the Line, on the Bony Express.
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