Ghost

You are the product of a happenstance
Your father's eyes and your mother's hands
You dream about the other side of the road
And you hold it close
While you hold the wheel close
Antiseptic analytical mind
With your steel-toed boots and your boots in a line
Don't want to hit the road and go coast to coast
It's what you want the most
To fantasize your ghost

I'm counting the days, acquiring the taste
I'm sick of looking at the stupid look on your face

Out in the desert, you buried your wine
And you looked at the roots and you made up your mind
You want to resurrect it from the dream that awoke you
And spoke from your shoulder and said, "You are no one"
You had a notion to keep killing time
But the clock is a wreck and you've already died
So leave it all behind and like the others before you
Just walk out the door and don't tell them goodbye

Ah, where is the fun in feeding the beast?
I'm running from the one with the symmetrical teeth
I'm counting the days, acquiring the taste
I'm sick of looking at the stupid look on your face

I'm counting the days
I'm losing my way
I'm counting the days
I'm sick of looking at the stupid look on your face