Ghost

The city was a badly damaged illustration,
A lazy canvas cover to a parasitic mold.
And everything was washed in washed out shades of black and gold
Leaking from the viscous smog strangling the moon above.

A rare and tired rain crawled down to raise
Thin particles of dust in clouds and set the clouds like grain,
Then shook them to distort the stillness of the frozen frame.
And all the city streets played dead beneath the toxic air.

And all the city streets played dead, anesthetized by fear
Of a haunt, out of his mind, rocking in and out of sight,
Walking the sidewalk side to side, howling out into the night,
As spastic streetlights followed his demented croon:

Every day I wake up early,
‘fore the sun shines in the sky.
And every night I stay up late,
Long after he’s said goodbye.
Yeah, I’ll watch it rise and tumble
’til I lay me down and die.

And in the light,
The shadow split beneath his feet,
To slowly sway and fade away
Into the night.

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