When the Ghosts Have Died
Everyone…. Everywhere… Everything…
Everyone…. Everywhere… Everything…
Consider me.
Consider me.
Why be afraid?
You’ve got what you’ve made.
So, Guilt, why hide your head?
Regret, didn’t make your bed.
The things that go bump in the middle of the night,
no longer do they scare.
The monsters of the world breast beating in their rage,
no longer do they care.
War drums pound in no particular direction…
The words would have meaning…
There’s no particular inflection…
Supernatural fear… disappear.
When the ghosts have died.
Everyone…. Everywhere… Everything…
Everyone…. Everywhere… Everything…
Consider me.
Consider me.
Why be afraid?
You’ve got what you’ve made.
So hoard and take what’s yours:
Your fear and snake oil cures.
The things that go bump in the middle of the night,
no longer do they scare.
The monsters of the world breast beating in their rage,
no longer do they care.
War drums pound in no particular direction…
The words would have meaning…
There’s no particular inflection…
Supernatural fear… disappear.
When the ghosts have died.
–Chvad SB
Copyright 2010 Chvad SB. All rights reserved.
