Like ghosts of schoolyards past
We inherit shattered ruins
From the iv‘ry towers past
And they‘ll tie me to the mast
To prevent my wicked doings
Misunderstood by small-town folk
You walk the road to work and back
The bar is, thus, a pit-stop when
They tell you what you lack, in pints
The flowers won‘t remember me
When I rot under their roots, and feed
On worms and bugs and poems too
They taketh what I need to give
You love your dreams
And hate your life
tis what you chose to suffer with
and nothing ever calls you names
like ghosts of schoolyards past
