When I wasn’t 16
I used to see strange things
some vaguely resembling ghosts or spectral hosts
I was always fond of the notion
I was drenched in some spirit ocean
And all my visions merely the symptom of eyes open so wide
That I could peer into the other side
You’re the freckles all along the hairline
Revelations from feeble spirt half-lifes
You’re the ghost that I was born to know
You’re the throat from which the echo’s thrown
You’re the freckles all along the hairline
Revelations from feeble spirt half-lifes
You’re the ghost that I was born to know
You’re the throat from which the echo’s thrown
One day without warning the spirits stopped their warring
The devil ceased imploring
I said banished from my bed
Or had I hallucinated?