The guy on my right is new
And he says he feels kinda sad and his hands are cold
And he refuses the dice
So I pick 'em up myself.
I let 'em roll.
And the little white spots gleam like stars
And the guy on my right gets a look at the stickman
And he begins to sense where it is that we are
And the table's hot
But so am I
And I grab the bones and I let 'em fly.
So come 2 come 3 come 4 come 5 come 6 come 7 come 9
It doesn't matter to me now
'cause I've got all kinds of time.
Writer(s): John S Darnielle
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