Ghosties

I can't give into this depression,
The isolation slowly seeping in,
Writing my own lyrics to some one else's tune,
Not a poem or a song, just a lonesome substitute.

I've got tickets for an Astral plane,
And plans to fly out tonight,
I think I know what that means,
But I could never say it right.

I can't share this with any one,
I can only try,
Sometimes they relate but mostly,
We're just ghosties...

I can see the factory,
The workers all inside,
I can see the white old sheets,
Covering their eyes,
It seems no matter where I go,
I cannot make this right,
There's too many dead,
Too many deadening inside.

Originally posted November 1st, 2007