What the Ghost Was Thinking
It wasn't like a dream
It was rather a scream
There wasn't any peaceful floating
Or victorious taunt and gloating
It was frightening and scary and red all over
Damocles dangling as the scythes hover
Everyone bawling their eyes out and
Watching me splattering on the sand
It was all gore and fury and blood and puke
It was crucifixion it was poor Luke
It was the ER with it's mangled victims
Of crashes and accidents and machine rhythms
IT WAS DEATH but it wasn't to me
As i cast aside my broken body
The only thing that wafted through me
Was the crazy fact that I was free
To watch them suffer for all eternity
Weeping when they knew I had leprosy
And would have died in coma and morose
Without hands, fingers or toes
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