Ghosts
(Steve Walsh / Steve Morse / Bob Ezrin)
There's tombstone in a snowy field
Close by an old ghost town
The epitaph's been weather-blown away
There's a belltower where petitions peeled
It's been half torn down
But it must have softened every soul that came to pray
There's a schoolhouse full of broken glass
And wounded walls
The rusty swings like derelicts sleeping in the weeds
There's a picture-graduation class
Staring down deserted halls
"THE HOPE OF 44" is what it reads
It's just as if some restless wind blew their dreams away far away
It's just as if those dreams had never been but oh-
I feel their ghosts around me now- I hear them say
They've come back home to dream those dreams again
We recommend: Princess of the Posse
New world order out of hand
Bloodbath slaughter on the hot white sand
Roman orgy a burning stake
The head of the Baptist wiggling on a plate
New world order for a Texas god
Bloodbath slaughter black crude jihad
Blacks and Hispanics poor white trash
Snug in the plastic of a bodybag
No no not one senator's son
Will die in the glory of the desert sun
The mother of all battle
Bodies, crippled bodies, butchered bodies
In a dry river in a dead river
Bloodbath slaughter on the hot white sand
Roman orgy a burning stake
The head of the Baptist wiggling on a plate
New world order for a Texas god
Bloodbath slaughter black crude jihad
Blacks and Hispanics poor white trash
Snug in the plastic of a bodybag
No no not one senator's son
Will die in the glory of the desert sun
The mother of all battle
Bodies, crippled bodies, butchered bodies
In a dry river in a dead river