Looking around these old tombstones,
I can see that I am not alone,
For everywhere I can see,
Are ghosts of the past looking at me.
Over there sits old Bobby Baker,
The oldest son of the undertaker,
One night he thought he could fly,
Needless to say he didn’t survive.
Sitting on her plot is Miss Marilyn Darvish,
Who one day got her wish,
That she didn’t want to live anymore,
And hung herself from the barn door.
There is young Ronnie Hall,
He blasted his car into a wall,
That old brick wall refused to yield,
And Ronnie kissed his windshield.
It’s Mrs. Jones who always felt ill,
Said she must take many pills,
Took a handful and went to bed,
The next morning she woke up quite dead.
Standing in the corner is wild Johnny Hanks,
Who thought he could live by robbing banks,
His criminal career ended before it could start,
When the police put a bullet right thru his heart.
I see Mr. and Mrs. Julian Rife,
Who shared a wonderful life,
And a love they could never hide,
Forever together, side by side.
The stories of these ghosts could go on and on,
But I don’t have that long,
The sun is going down and I must be brave,
For it’s my turn to rise from the grave.
Copyright © Timothy McGuire | Year Posted 2018