The Ghost
Packy Lundholm
Flickering light I haven't seen
Since I was about seventeen
You don't know what you miss the most
Until you're visited by the ghost
Cigarettes and sticky tack
Holding up glowing stars in your Pontiac
I felt so alive in the bright and quiet snow
Now I'm riding with the ghost
It's a gift I don't know how to use
It's a path to somewhere I can't choose
I'm taking steps, but it doesn't show
Blame it on the ghost
Was it ever really there?
Was the deal you made ever fair?
The dogs are growling and I don't know
It's probably the ghost
