In my bad dream there's a hallway to A barely living room TV's on, dirty flower curtains drawn And I hate you, but I feel so bad for you too We're in a flat fescue meadow Browned by the cold Wearing the clothes of a ghost The clothes of a ghost And in my dream, you are me And I am sort of you And I'm thinking about some of the things that you did And it sort of feels like abuse Still I can smell the ocean Yet we're a thousand miles from any coast Wearing the clothes of a ghost In a flat fescue meadow Frozen dead by the cold In the clothes of a ghost The clothes of a ghost