[Intro] At number seven, curtains twitch at dusk A polished smile, a black veil, a little house of trust The neighbors trade their theories over cooling cups of tea Then another envelope arrives, addressed to Mrs. B. [Verse 1] Her first was lost on a county road, a freak October slide The guardrail bent, the rain came down, no witness by his side The policy paid out just in time to settle what they owed She planted white chrysanthemums beside the winding road The paper said misfortune; the pastor said amen She wore the widow’s kindness like a perfectly pinned hem But Mrs. Vale next door swore the weather had been clear And kept that little detail to herself for half a year [Pre-Chorus] One name crossed out, one name signed below A neat black line where the bank funds go [Chorus] Oh, the black widow’s luck is a curious thing A cracked step, a loose latch, a late-summer sting Each story just fits, each record says “accident” No charge, no courtroom, no official indictment But the block holds its breath when her new vows begin And counts all the roses she lays by the inn They can’t prove a thing, so the talk stays thin— “Poor dear,” says the street, with its eyes on the widow again [Verse 2] The second took a tumble when the old porch rail gave way He’d bragged about his balance at the barbecue that day A gift came through from Auntie, then a transfer cleared by noon She bought a little cottage and a silver serving spoon The third was struck by lightning in a cloudless patch of blue At least that’s what the paper and the coroner both drew She stood beside the mailbox, thanked the neighbors for their care While a brand-new deed lay folded in her handbag there [Pre-Chorus] One name crossed out, one name signed below A neat black line where the bank funds go [Chorus] Oh, the black widow’s luck is a curious thing A cracked step, a loose latch, a late-summer sting Each story just fits, each record says “accident” No charge, no courtroom, no official indictment But the block holds its breath when her new vows begin And counts all the roses she lays by the inn They can’t prove a thing, so the talk stays thin— “Poor dear,” says the street, with its eyes on the widow again [Bridge] At the garden club, they lower their voices At the station, the questions have run out of choices A grant in the mail, a policy paid A bank clerk recalls how the signatures were made No evidence sturdy, no witness who’ll swear Just one more strange ending and her black Sunday wear The law shuts its ledger; the neighbors don’t sleep They keep every clipping and the promises they keep [Final Chorus] Oh, the black widow’s luck is a curious thing A cracked step, a loose latch, a late-summer sting Each story just fits, each record says “accident” No charge, no courtroom, no official indictment But the block holds its breath when her new vows begin And counts all the roses she lays by the inn They can’t prove a thing, so the talk stays thin— “Poor dear,” says the street, with its eyes on the widow again [Outro] A fresh coat of paint A new name on the gate The neighbors say nothing And watch her arrive late
