Something About a Ghost
Please stop screaming.
I heard you sing something about a ghost.
When I return to solitude addressing the apologies.
These hands tied by a jacket produced by my own fears (you'll never know what its like).
It's going to be okay, alright.
How could you excuse the abuse?
It's okay, it's alright.
You've learned to live and then let it forget.
It's alright, it's okay.
His parents found him dead in a parking lot.
You'd hit when you knew.
My dad wasn't coming home.
How could you excuse the abuse?
