Oh so ghost,
Why do you moan?
Who pressed petals between the rings of the great oak?
Oh so ghost,
Was it her choice?
Did she leave you hung up alone on another coast?
Oh, oh, oh.
Were the windchimes sweet as a cold holiday?
Was it the intention of moment himself?
Oh so ghost,
Sheet on a line,
Frail evermore and still all by choice;
And oh, do I owe it to you,
So ghost.
