Seems like a different life. Who's worries are these?
Can't be me. Not my own. This house is no longer my home.
Outside the sky is bright. No sun means no shade.
Shadows fade. Memories sour. I can't believe I've lost the hour.
But what's the point? I guess I'll finish rolling up this joint
And see where careless wandering takes me.
Win or loose I know I'll always have my walking shoes,
And I can outrun any ghost.
The most I'll ever need in my sleep
Is to learn how to just lie and not to turn.
Meanwhile, I'm timing flies. Each record says this will be missed.
Mister bug who made his home out of a rug.
But what's really sad is all the friends I thought I'd always have
Are made of words and pictures mostly.
Now that I've gone far enough to know that differences aren't different stuff,
And I can outrun any ghost. And I can outrun any ghost.
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