Fell asleep thinking of the last cut,
Last time I let that be alive inside me.
Before another uncharted fall repeated,
Ended up with you following me there.
Woke up as one has many times before,
Shaking off feelings only real in dreaming.
No way to scrub down senses from fiction,
Torture I guess for living in this lonely divide.
Returned to see a phantom playing on,
Spirit that died eight years ago alive again.
She shocks me now and then via letters,
Yet never states her reason for her haunting.
In the end, I guess I’m tired of feeling unwanted,
So in the night, we live it in the only place we can.
Not right like so much else that’s been painted,
However fate don’t bother none, it won’t hear pleas nor demands.