I am the ghost of a heart and a head in the clouds.
I am the ghost of a smile through the holes in my mouth.
I am the ghost of a timeline that worked itself out.
Now I know nothing but the monsters we make of ourselves.
But you paint a picture of life that I'm blind to.
There are too many grays I cannot leave behind.
I'm not a promising future, I'm only a past.
I'm still looking back.
They are the faces fit to a mold and remade.
They are the big shots and small talks and half-hearted hardly-earned pay.
She is the voice that screams, "you'll lose love if you can't escape." I'm losing it already, so there's no difference anyways.
We are hell-bent and obsessed with ends and beginnings, and we have our hearts set on forgetting everything in between them.
But I am only a ghost, and looking back is all that I know.
I am not a promising future, but I promise you I'm not a past.
So I'll dig up some dirt, and I'll pray for what it's worth that I'm half the man you say I am.
I believe in these words, and these words are enough for now.
I believe in something.
I will not let you down.