| I had my hopes of how I would be
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| After living in exile
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| After closing your eyes to me
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| I even wrote scenes where I reemerged boldly
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| Bearded, alive, with eskimo eyes
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| New baby on my back, but from where?
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| But I didn’t count the fact that I have ghosts in my mind
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| Stowaways. |
| Great ghosts of my life
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| Great ghosts of old wives
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| And they’re howling!
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| So I spent my wilderness time rolling on the ground
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| Pulling my hair, and wrestling them off
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| Yelling at no one, punching snow
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| I gathered ghosts and gave them my lecture
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| I bid them away, I pleaded and cried. |
| I said,
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| There’s no room in my life for you, or you,
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| or your howling!
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| Let me undo these ropes and go on living without you
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| Not just change where we live
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| Go on get, I said
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| I had my hopes about how I would be after sending them off
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| After getting set free
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| But there’s no such thing as living
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| Without their prowling
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| As you can see, having descended the hill
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| I still look like me
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| I still wallow like Phil
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| And forever will
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| I’m teeming with ghosts and I’m still whining for wives
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| Knitting my brow
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| But now I’ve surrendered
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| In fact, I have joined in
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| Hear us howling! |