In my bad dream there's a hallway to
A barely living room
TV's on, dirty flower curtains drawn
And I hate you but I feel so bad for you, too
We're in a flat Fescue meadow
Brown by the cold wearing clothes of a ghost
The clothes of a ghost

And in my dream, you are me
And I am sort of you
And I'm thinking about some of
The things that you did
And it sort of feels like abuse
Still I can smell the ocean
Yet we're a thousand miles from any coast
Wearing the clothes of a ghost
In a flat fescue meadow
Frozen dead by the cold
In the clothes of a ghost
The clothes of a ghost

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Eric Donald Johnson