Whipstaff Manior

There's a name for this denial.
It's the golden age thinking,
Erroneous notion that
a different time period would be better than the one,
The one we're residing in,
And I break and bend.
I'm a candle burning at both ends.
I feel like I'm losing my best friend.

I've got some unfinished business to attend to.
I guess I'm doomed from the fallacies I put you through.

What am I... am I a ghost?
If you could see me now.
Stop your haunting, stop your taunting.
Just get to crossing over.

There's so many shadows in this home.
It's so hard to pinpoint which ones are our own.
And I know I'm reaping what I've sewn,
Hexed from all the vacant chances that I've blown.

What's lost cannot be found.
Careless and tired,
We kept our guards down.
Can I crawl into your head.
I want solace. No wait, I'm dead.
Angels fight saints for riches,
While I'm just playing for keeps.