I’m always looking for a ghost a lost remnant, wild without God, with hands cold as steel but forever unshaken in idleness. The perfect severance, chained by malevolence but free from man’s inheritance. My cold, foolish heart doesn’t remember life without killing. My eyes saw once, but now see no more. My face, upturned to the warm afternoon sun, can no longer feel its celestial grace. Eden wherever it lay is cemented and gray, with hounds from hell saying it was fiction, a place made of stone and clay. So I play my guitar at night for the ghost that does not show, but haunts deep within every crevice and hole. I grieve while free and sing when a noose is placed upon my neck. Beg for light? No, scream for it! In the many dark hours of inhaling pain, Suck the poison from the vein. Destroy the walls that confined you. No more illusions painted on asylum walls, where great minds go when fairytales start to fray. I’ve got nothing but my sweet ghost, and one day it’ll decide to come haunt me till I am mad. I will laugh, bow, and give it a hand.