Ghost Land

I can see what you have closed your eyes to.
This town is a ghost land. Souls wanting life again.
At night you rest your empty minds full of broken dreams.
I won't play any part in this plot to pretend.
The summer breeze breathes past memories
that this mind has yet to let me lose.
Anamnesis of a thesis of ties to this town
and all the imagined that they had implied.
But the recognition has long since faded from my eyes.
And before I know it, a quarter of a century is gone.
There is truly only one motive constant to emote,
that tomorrow I will surely still feel the same.
This town is not Eden, and I won't settle for anything less.

Here and there I see a flicker, and catch a glimpse.
That almost abandoned rage begins to surge anew,
and I grasp the need of smashing something dear,
breaking the sincere, uprooting and fleeing here.
This town is not Eden, and I see it's nowhere near.

If what I now know was then known, I would have walked away.
I frightened those too afraid to think their own,
worried those who could not go without, and pushed away
every thought of thoughtless care of a non-contender.
I wrought the dark, and kept to and crept in corners
and slept in a candid town of the spirited dead.
The lamp posts spark and ignite the city lights
and engulf the road so that my way becomes clear.
Spectres walk the city streets hand in hand.
This town is a ghost land. It has no life left to live.
This town is not Eden, and I won't settle for anything less.