Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.
I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner, in the jails of Fu Manchu,
Who is there because he spoke to you-know-who.
I wear the black for those who sadly read,
That book that Mister Lovecraft claimed was dead,
About the road to lunacy through empty lanes of space,
Their minds are gone, you see it in their face.
Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones under attack,
Up front there ought 'a be a Gal In Black.
I wear it for Pabodie, lost and old,
A reckless one whose bad trip left him cold,
I wear the black in morning, the sun rising in flight,
Revealing schemes and plots made in the night.
And, I wear it for the dozens who have died,
In experimental planes and blimps they flied,
I wear it for those who soar above the clouds with pride,
In rocketships with rayguns at their side.
Well, there's things that only The Shadow knows,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.
Ah, I'd love to wear a rocket pack all day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Gal In Black.