(Verse 1:) The moon spills silver like a torn-out vein, Drips down the ridge, runs wild in the grain. A scarecrow twists in the preacher’s field, Hollow-eyed, grinning, never healed. (Verse 2:) The dust moves slow like a dying breath, Every road leads deeper into death. A black dog howls where the steeple fell, With a voice like rust and the scent of hell. (Chorus:) Oh, the black milk river, the bone-white trees, Something in the water whispers low to me. A hand in the dark, a thorn in the skin, The door swings open and the night pours in. (Verse 3:) The wind wears boots, steps heavy on stone, Echoes like a name that’s long since gone. A lantern swings from a widow’s hand, The wick burned dry, but it still makes demands. (Bridge:) There’s a house by the creek with a blood-red door, Nails in the threshold, chains on the floor. I dreamt I knocked and the walls breathed deep, And the voice that answered was buried feet. (Chorus:) Oh, the black milk river, the bone-white trees, Something in the water whispers low to me. A hand in the dark, a thorn in the skin, The door swings open and the night pours in. (Outro:) Some roads were meant for the lost and blind, Some books were written for no man to find. The sun don’t rise where the dead men go, And the river keeps secrets that nobody knows.