It's there
On top of the cupboard there
Sits next to you
And see
There on the ceiling
A ghost
Waiting to be free
In the bathroom
Watching you bathe
Like a ghost

Like a ghost of himself
They say
Like a ghost

The stuffing knocked out of you
She will search
And buys his paper in the morning
Hello Mrs. Wilson
With his cat on his lap
He watches the TV
And he doesn't cry or get angry anymore
And he doesn't want to change the world anymore
Let it keep its own counsel

On top of the cupboard there
Sitting next to you
There on the ceiling
Unseen
A ghost of himself
Waiting to be free

And from here I imagine you
Not in my bed
Collecting apples, windfallen
From here I imagine you
But not hanging over me
Wrists on my shoulder
But driving your car
Swearing beautifully
I imagine your body
The tips of your elbows
The pads of your feet
Pampered completely
I imagine reaching for you, touching you
But not with tears
With the beauty of every day
Over and over
I imagine you in the sunshine, maybe
Whatever the weather
Whatever is on TV
I imagine you

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Robert McKinna, Stuart A. Staples