The Spirit of the Stairway

Autumn came too fast this year
Winter whispers its cull in my ear
Singing all things are dead they are dead and they are mine

I find I’m awakened by
the ghosts in the night
singing louder and louder…

“break off the dead…
shake off the dead…and move on”

The old lake from the dock
boasts all winter long
of his solemn reprieve
from the times we believed
the summer nights would last forever…but those nights are gone

In the front room my old father’s chair
His haven, fallen in disrepair
but it’s withered the storm…I’ve withered the storm

Sitting on the old wooden swing
It tells the songs I used to sing
about you…about me…all the things I should have said

“break off the dead
shake off the dead…and move on”

the ruts in the dirt
no this shouldn’t hurt
you said oh I love you
but this can never work
and I jumped from the swing
to chase you down the street as you sped off and left me…you left me…

I’m left with my ghosts and you took the best of me…