Flat Black

We passed this awesome truck on Oak Street while riding the shuttle on the way to work the other day. I had to send a mobile pic to Maurice, who wrote one of my favorite SF songs about 10 years ago: Flat Black (on Pandora).



I'd like to have a nice truck but it'd just wind up gettin' stolen.
Fresh paint in this hood's like flashing cash on the street.
This tiny place they call a "live/work" space comes with no garage;
I use urban camouflage. I paint this beater flat black.

Flat black. Honey just get in.
Flat black. Ugly's not a sin.
Flat black. Let's take a ride and see this town from the other side—

I'd like to have a nice place but nice planes tend to get broke-in.
This City of Gold has got a lot, I'm told.
But if you get your share, you better hide it.
There's three deadbolt locks on my door and a coat of flat black.

Flat black. Honey just come in.
Flat black. The door is just a skin.
Flat black. It's safe and warm inside.
You just gotta step across the great divide.

Flat black: it's just a color of paint.
Flat black: looks like something it ain't.
Flat black: a thin coat of "not there."
Hey, I won't bite—at least much I swear.

Flat black. Honey just get in.
Flat black. Ugly's not a sin.
Flat black. It's safe and warm inside.

Flat black: it's just a color of paint.
Flat black: looks like something it ain't.
Flat black: a thin coat of "not there."
Could I get you inside if I made it a dare?

CD store.