Ghosts

(Don't try to think too deeply about this one. Much of it, I've realized, makes little sense. I wasn't thinking all that hard when I was writing it anyway.)

What is life itself were dying?
Would it even be worth trying?
Walking through my past life's lying
Walking through the walls

If life itself would make a choice
To stand or sit and ignore the voice
Maybe then we'd see the light
Maybe it would be alright

These written words - these noisy birds
These little bits of hidden pits
These useless books - would you just look?
And see the dilemma that we're in?

If time and life (such petty things)
Would just for once agree on things
But time keeps going while life stands still
And time gets all while life gets nil

The ghosts are back - they're always here
They're too old to haunt me now.
Besides, in time, we won't be really
Different after all