i killed me a ghost and i buried the body but for a trophy i kept the sad head. put it up on a fencepost, christ it sure looked ungodly. the grotesque reminder of the lot of the dead.
there are those that must pass by, i laugh as they try to keep their eyes down, keep 'em pinned to the ground. I mean, who's got the stomach to face yard art in such bad taste?
it had come up in my house with it's boos and its howls, disrupting my sleep, i awoke in a rage. challenged to fight for its right to my life, my knife was unsheathed, we squared off, blade to shade.
i'll admit, it fought bravely, but a wee bit too gravely. it was I brought it down, and it made such a sound as it perished all over again, hoping this time could be finally the end.
there are those who may laugh, i know not what at,
but o what it's been when my voice has joined in.
my mind was out the window, my heart was rent in twain. every time i heard the wind blow i heard the sad refrain:
"let the dead rain upon us
"let their piss fall upon our heads."