Ghost Zero

Only ghosts man these old frontier outposts now They rock back and forth on driftwood chairs on the porches of the town main street shop's and saloons Hoping and praying for a piece of tumbleweed to pass bye to make this day somehow memorable The sun's positioning says this would have been rush hour way back then When they left they stole the boots off the dead so as to keep the noise of trampling feet down The weeded grass in the graveyard has turned ginger brown And the names on the crosses have almost totaly eroded and faded away completely Soon enough this here town wont be found on any map anymore and when that happens It won't be a ghost town it will be as if it never existed at all And at that point then even the ghosts will have to contemplate maybe leaving and moving on Because even the dead need some form of life to exist Above ground zero