His voice echoes at home
and I’m sitting there alone,
picking up the phone,
wanting to call, I can’t atone.
If life is a train
going along ceaseless tracks.
I think I’m haunted by
the ghosts of those who won’t come back.
His lapin smile and
a tinge of pink, pale skin,
appear like a montage, while
I don’t eat, can’t sleep, shouldn’t breathe.
And I can see
the names on the walls
of the daydreams come to wake.
They opened the door,
walked away, making their escape.
And he burns so bright.
Thought I’d be alright
the day we decide
that together we’re cyanide.
I know saying sorry
won’t dissolve his glacial eyes.
His pride, his fury,
I’ve crossed all his fine lines.
But I still see us in
his red car on country roads,
his passenger seat, I thought that
I’d be fine wherever he roamed,
I was by his side, not alone
again.
Now he’s leaving at the next stop.
What I love ends up lost.
I don’t want him to go,
but he’s just another ghost.
