I reached, but you weren’t there;
I cried, but you didn’t hear me;
I tried, but I failed somewhere,
And the rains outside don’t care.
Woke up this morning to nothing,
And I decided to go nowhere;
There was nothing to do all day,
And the rains outside didn’t care.
We had a million conversations,
But they were all in my own head;
Afterwards, only silence was there,
And the rains outside never cared.
These people that live short lives of irrelevant beauty,
Are the art that litters the books of forgotten history;
Someone burnt down the museum but not the library,
Said the words were too hot for flames of the literary.
So I talked to these people and spent all day drinking,
They told of the treasures of ignorance and thinking;
But the dark waters rose as their boats were sinking,
Last I saw they were deep under water, lights blinking.
I buried their fading memory on the shores of denial,
I hung my head and thought of their dreams awhile;
Not for heroes, but for them I couldn’t help but smile,
For it is the common people that truly live lives of trial.
I recall the sweetest fall,
Where angels wept in the skies;
The cold drink before it all,
Couldn’t hide the fire in your eyes,
As smoke curled around our form,
I could see the future was closed,
And the present was stillborn,
As long as I was loving ghosts.
The sun was high as was I,
When you sailed past like a cloud,
Caught the breeze to catch your eye,
As whispers of love grew loud;
The gods themselves would part seas,
So I could walk to your side,
But even they could not seize,
A drowning heart beneath the tide.
And the sun was high as I stood,
On that lonely strip of the coasts,
I swear I did all that I could,
But still I remain loving ghosts.