Out Past The Party Lights

Tom Waits: The Long Way Home

The lane to
the land of the dead.
Where you are, my friend.
Marie-France, my lady,
she prepared this road,
but her lord
choked her off
before I could read
the book of her days.
Neuro from the nerves,
the silver paths.
Romancer. Necromancer.
I call up the dead.
But no, my friend,
and the boy
did a little dance,
brown feet printing the sand,
I am the dead,
and their land.
He laughed. A gull cried,
Stay.
If your woman is a ghost, she doesn't know it.
Neither will you.
--William Gibson
Neuromancer