guess there're bones in my left hand, man
while upstairs there's a ghost who floats through
walls and third persons
watching you and everyone
mind caught up in gilded frames
shown behind polished panes
gates of guilt shut off certain walls
hey, but you could still...
and hey wouldn't it be a shame to blame yourself
for something you tried so sincerely to work out?
but there's still doubt
done worked, done wasted one day
beet red across my face and down my neck
left the power on too long, battery's dead
quiet ride home to climb into bed