There seems to be a ghost in everybody's house.
Haunting everybody's dreams, or songs or books.
Try, Try, Try to understand why they come out so often
Something that we have never seen,
Something that may have never been,
Yet anyone who is anyone has had a ghost in their house.
I often ponder this questionable fact.
Is it their nature to shape a life?
Or to represent a bitter strife?
Nothing remains clear to me,
Yet I have written of one
But for what reasons I have yet to see.
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